Finally, after a year and a half, Regina's story continues. The former prince awaits her fate, only to find her captor reluctant to end the game. An army uses the most unlikely camouflage to begin a most unusual deployment, and a reluctant general learns how to get in touch with his feminine side.

Sorry about the wait, everyone -- and if you've never seen the story before, go back and read parts one and two first! *grin*

The Hardest Battle, Part 3
by Randalynn

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” -- Plato

The guard on the road into Harrowshire had noticed more traffic of late, but he did not give it much thought, except to note that it made his job much more interesting. After all, he mused, having folks to question and bully was a far sight better than just staring at a dirt road twelve hours straight every day.

So when another wagon full of people and furniture came rolling up to his post, Ferris was more than happy for the diversion.

"Halt!" Ferris stood at the village gate, blocking the wagon's way with his body and his sword. The wagon's driver pulled back on the reins, bringing the horses and the wagon to a standstill. Ferris moved to the driver's side, his eyes settling on the older woman sitting beside the driver, and the young girl beside her.

"Who are you, and what is your business here in Harrowshire?" The guard's voice was stern and business-like, but his eyes roved across the girl's body in her simple dress as if he would memorize every curve.

"I am Bernard, formerly of Holyoak, in the Narrows," the man replied with an easy smile, not at all intimidated by Ferris's manner. "I am a furniture maker, and would like to see if this village has need of my services. I have brought my wife and child here in the hopes that we can find a place to settle, and call Harrowshire our home."

Ferris transferred his attention to the older woman. "Your name is ...?"

"Evelyn, sir," she said in a high trembling voice, "wife of Bernard, mother of Alyssa."

"And this would be Alyssa?" Ferris caught a glimpse of the girl's golden hair beneath her shawl, and watched her look down quickly to avoid his eye. "Look at me when I'm talking, girl!" He roared, and she raised her head quickly, fear stamped across her delicate features.

‘God,' he thought, desire draining his need to show how powerful he was. ‘Look at those eyes. Such a deep blue. A man could lose himself in those eyes and be glad of the chance to remain lost. And those cheeks, so rosy and soft. And they might settle here? If I could snare her, she would be a wife well worth catching . . . and holding.’

"My apologies," he said, more gently. "We guards are not used to dealing with such beauty and youth. And I will not keep you ... any of you. There is still time for you to get settled at the inn here before nightfall."

"Thankee, sir," Bernard said with a smile. "Thankee much."

"I hope to see you in town, Alyssa." Ferris smiled and gave the girl a wink. She blushed and ducked her head, and the guard almost laughed.

"Thank you, sir," she said, looking away. "I ... I hope so, too."

As the wagon left the guard behind, Bernard's smile grew, but he kept his laughter stifled until well out of earshot. "Looking forward to seeing him in town, Al?"

"Oh, aye," the boy said, the anger in his voice masking his embarrassment. "When the time is right, I'll see him, that's for sure. On his knees, at the other end of my sword."

"I think he'd like to see you on your knees at the other end of his 'sword,' missy. If you catch my meaning." Bernard grinned as he spoke. Corporal Alan Smithee turned away from the older thief and folded his arms under his ample bosom. He presented the perfect picture of a young girl in a huff over a slight.

"When the time is right, lad." Evan Marshall, sergeant of the King's Own, reached over and patted his 'daughter' on the shoulder. His voice slid down an octave or two. "When the time is right. Until then, we play the roles we've taken on to the best of our ability, and organize the townfolk for when the signal comes." He plucked at the simple dress that hung on his large but slightly drooping chest, and wished once again for another way to get past the patrols. "It's not my choice to play 'wife' to the master thief here, but the princess is counting on us, and I'm not about to let her down."

"Aye, the princess," Al said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. "Poor Prince Reginald, trapped and tortured and ... unmanned. At least we won't be this way forever."

Evan nodded. "Taking every village and town while the main force takes back the capital is an important part of seeing Drax torn from power. If I have to pretend undying love to 'Bernard' for the chance to rip that usurper from his stolen throne, I will."

"Good!" Bernard said with a smile as they passed the guard barracks on their way to the center of the town. He pulled the reluctant sergeant closer and threw an arm around him. "Give us a kiss then, 'missus.' Let's put on a show for Drax's goons."

Alan stifled a smile as 'Evelyn' stiffened, then melted into Bernard's embrace. "The things I do for my duty," he muttered, just as the thief's lips pressed against his. Alan ducked his head and hid his laughter with his shawl as the guards started whooping and applauding the 'lovebirds' when the wagon rolled past. Bernard played to the audience, his hand cupping one of his 'wife's' breasts and squeezing as the kiss went on and on. Finally, the two broke from their embrace as the wagon turned a corner and slipped out of sight.

"Damn you, thief," the sergeant growled, "between your tongue and your wandering hands, I've half a mind to gut you and leave you to rot in some poor farmer's field."

Bernard shook his head, with just a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Come now, Evelyn. Is that any way for a loving wife to speak to her husband?"

"Loving wife? Now half the guards in this town think I'm naught but a wanton slut!"

"And your reputation concerns you how, my dove?" Bernard grinned. "You're a married woman, which means you're entitled to want to be touched by your husband from time to time. How do you think we managed to create this wonderful daughter of ours? As for being thought of as a wanton slut, that makes it far less likely any of them will think of you as a sergeant of King Stephen's army, does it not?" His face became serious. "I'm just doing my job, as you're preparing to do yours."

"You're just lucky I have a job to do, and that keeping you alive is part of it." Evan shifted his weight and moved closer to the corporal, sitting up primly with his hands folded in his lap. "Just keep your lips and your hands to yourself, 'husband,' or you'll wake up one morning better able to play the woman than I will ever be."

The thief sighed. "Oh, that I should ever have chosen to defy my parents and wed you, my Beloved." He grinned again and gave her a nudge. "Still, you're a feisty wench, even after all these years, and I still love you no matter how you much fire you show."

"Hmmph."

The rest of the trip into town was made in silence, save for an occasional chuckle from the driver's seat.

###

A certain portion of King Stephen's army had not been pleased with the manner in which they were to make ready for action. But they were all highly trained or deeply committed to saving the kingdom (and Princess Regina) from the uncontrollable lusts of Drax. They understood the need for secrecy, given the enemy's overwhelming superiority in numbers. And most important of all, they were an army, trained and disciplined and ready to die for king and comrades. So they submitted to the inevitable with the same stoic reserve they would show facing an enemy army across a battlefield.

Still, that didn't mean they had to like it.

The representatives from The Thieves Guild walked among the assembled troops in the North Woods, assigning roles with all the quiet concentration you would expect from professionals. Those soldiers that could pass for women were taken aside and drilled in deportment and attitude for a week. They learned how to speak in higher, softer, measured tones, and how to hold themselves and move as women do. They also learned the quiet demeanor and humility most women were taught from girlhood, to show respect for their elders and obedience to their "husbands." Some could not master the training, despite their best efforts, and were sent back to the ranks of those who would be attacking the castle -- only a week could be spared if the princess was to be saved. Others took to it with an ease that brought whistles from some of their comrades, and several of the master thieves wished they could take the men on as apprentices.

Seamstresses and tailors from a dozen villages fitted the new "girls" with dresses and underthings, coats and shawls. Craftsmen from the Thieves Guild created faux bosoms and curves to fit each soldier, and each man's hair was lengthened or styled as the situation demanded, to foster the illusion that he was a she.

Once taught and transformed, these "maids and maidens" were assigned to accompany other soldiers -- the ones who could never be mistaken for anything but men, even if Drax's guards were to drink all the wine in Darkholme. Fathers and daughters, husbands and wives ... all took borrowed wagons and spread out across the land, passing through Drax's checkpoints with surprising ease. They settled in towns and villages, fitting themselves into the communities they now called home, and made ready for the time when a motivated and well-prepared militia could benefit from the guidance of a few good men.

Even if they looked like a few good women.

It was a brilliant stratagem, save for one flaw. All of this preparation and transport took time. And for Princess Regina, time was rapidly running out.

###

She sat on her bed, looking into her own eyes in the mirror across the room while Melinde kneeled behind her, brushing Regina's hair.

'I am in there somewhere,' she thought ruefully. 'Reginald still exists inside, despite what Drax has made of me. But for how long?'

"A penny for your thoughts, beloved," Mel asked softly, still wielding her brush.

Pulled from her reverie, the princess gave Melinde a small smile.

"Oh, I believe they are worth far more than that, dearest," she replied. "Considering how rare they will soon become, I am sure I could ask for all of the Royal Treasury and still wind up cheated in the end."

Mel looked at Regina's face in the mirror and caught the flash of pain that worked its way through the jest. She put down the brush and put her hands on her lover's shoulders.

"It hasn't happened yet, Regina. It has been a week since Drax told us he knew of our deception. One full week, and still no visit from his healers. No potions or needles to drain your will and make you his slave." She leaned forward, her lips an inch from his ear. "And every day that passes is one day closer to rescue," she whispered. "Hold fast to that, and to me, beloved."

Ashamed, Regina bowed her head. "That is true, sweet," she said, keeping her voice low. "The time Drax gives us is time we sorely need, although why he should wait this long remains a mystery. Perhaps he delights in tormenting me, by making me mark the passing of each day and jump at the sound every time I hear a key in the lock."

"Or perhaps he does not wish to 'concede' his game so quickly." Melinde straightened and went back to her brushing. In spite of herself, Regina closed her eyes and embraced the feeling of Melinde's brush as it slid through her golden hair. "After all, Drax considers this other method, the one he used on Sir Brian, as a cheat and a poor way to win. Perhaps he still searches for some other way to make you surrender and submit."

"But the waiting is taking its own toll, Mel." She shuddered, and her voice shook. "It eats at me, as surely as if I was standing by a barred window overlooking the courtyard, watching them build my gallows and contemplating just what it means to die." She turned suddenly, taking Melinde's hands in both of hers, and looked up into her eyes. "I would be lying if I told you I was not afraid, and I will not lie to you. Never to you."

Feeling Regina's hands trembling, Melinde put down the brush and led her over to the bed. They sat, side by side, and Mel's eyes never left her beloved.

"To come so far, only to have it snatched from our grasp," the princess said softly. "It is unthinkable. And waiting for rescue just makes me feel weaker inside. I know you chafe at the bit as well, beloved. Is there anything we can do here and now? Is it so impossible to reach Drax when we're so close?"

"You are considered a very grave threat to Drax, Regina." Melinde shifted on the bed and leaned closer to her lover. "Now that you know Drax has a way to bend you permanently to his will, it has been judged too dangerous for the usurper to even see you here in the tower, and you have not been allowed to leave this room since you met him last. Without you, I have no reason to see his Lordship, and have remained free to serve you and Cook and anyone else who would command me."

"And a good thing too," Regina whispered, "else we would not know how close the country is to exploding into open rebellion."

"Just a few more days, and Drax will fall." Melinde held tight to the princess's hand. "We must hold out until then." She grimaced and stood, one hand on her stomach. "By all that's holy, this is no time for me to become sick. My stomach twists and turns at the slightest whim, and my bosom seems ready to swell so large it would break free of my dress."

Regina looked up at her love, her concern overriding all other worries. "Has this ever happened to you before?"

Melinde shrugged. "Not that I can remember, but I am sure it is nothing unusual, beloved. Probably brought on by too much work and not enough to eat. Along with the stress of waiting for something -- anything -- to happen." She started for the door. "I shall seek out Cook and Maude in the kitchen. Perhaps they have some remedy that will keep me whole and ready to fight when the time comes."

The princess nodded. "Both wise, and staunch allies from the start. They will be rewarded when this is through -- if I am in any condition to reward anyone. If all I have left to give is myself, I'm not sure either of them would want me." She grinned, showing a rare glimpse of the warrior she used to be.

Her betrothed laughed. "You'd better not even think of giving yourself to anyone else, beloved. You belong to me, body and soul." Regina nodded, her grin becoming a small smile, her eyes filling with love.

###

Drax sat on his stolen throne, brooding. Regina was lost to him, and it was his own misstep that had cost him his victory. He could use the method he used on Brina, but it would only be a different form of defeat, and losing was losing no matter how well the "cheat" worked.

'There has to be a better way,' he growled inside. 'I have managed to create a situation in which it is nearly impossible for me to win. At the same time, I am never supposed to lose. Never! This is intolerable.'

Drax rose and began to pace. His servants and his highest lords and ladies stayed well clear of his path, noting the anger and frustration that drove him across the throne room in a barely controlled frenzy. People who encountered Lord Drax in a foul mood seldom survived the experience, yet leaving the throne room could call unwanted attention to yourself. So those in his presence engaged in an odd dance, moving around the perimeter and engaging others in meaningless conversation with one eye on the usurper.

As Drax turned around to head back towards the dais where the throne sat, he noticed a second, slightly smaller throne next to it. A thought slipped quietly into his head, accompanied by one or two others, but he focused on the first. As he did, his lip began to twitch and form a slight smile, and an almost silent sigh of relief escaped form the assembled nobles.

'Maybe,' he thought, as the smile became a grin, 'there is a way to be victorious after all.'

###

"I am not happy, thief," Lord Nesbit growled as the wagon clattered and groaned its way across the countryside.

"I was supposed to get you into the castle undetected, Uncle," Tobias replied sweetly, once again in his disguise as the redheaded trollop. "I believed your happiness was less important than your safety. Was I wrong?"

"Of course not." Neville plucked at his skirts, and then hefted his huge bosom in both hands. "But this . . . this is too much!"

"Actually, it's just right." Tobias slowed the horses slightly and turned to look at the general. Without his beard, his face was rounder and softer, and Toby had continued the roundness to include rolling hips and a chest that left no doubt as to the owner's gender. Lord Nesbit's hair had been colored, lengthened, and shaped into a mass of black curls that tumbled down his back, nearly to his hips.

"You are a large man, Uncle," Tobias continued, giving the reins a snap and pushing the horses back to their faster pace. "The only way to disguise you well enough to enter the castle undetected to lead the assault was to transform you into a large woman, with attributes that match your . . . stature. Unfortunately, it will all come to naught if you don't stop behaving like a horse's ass and start acting like the woman you appear to be."

Nesbit turned and eyed the thief irritably. "What the devil are you on about?"

"Well, I haven't heard you speak in the voice you learned since we left the camp," the guild master replied. "If you don't practice it, it won't come naturally to you when we meet the enemy. The same with your gestures and mannerisms."

"They were fine when we left," the general grumbled. "I must have passed muster, or you wouldn't have agreed to ride with me."

"I agreed to ride with you," the thief said, "because you need more work, and you need it alone. Your 'manly pride' isn't letting you let go of your manhood long enough to embrace the role, especially in front of your men, and that, dear Uncle, is going to get you killed."

Toby turned his attention to the road. "As you discovered in the tavern, most men see what they expect to see, and you saw a redheaded bar girl out for a quick tumble. Right now, a quick glance at you makes a man instinctively see a 'woman.' A large woman, I grant you, but most soldiers are large men, and you would make an attractive catch for a quick roll in the hay -- especially for a man who likes his woman well-padded, and able to handle someone as . . . well-endowed . . . as he is."

Tobias reined the horses and the wagon stopped abruptly. He turned and stared straight into Nesbit's eyes. "So you look like an ample wench, and that's fine . . . for what it is. But the very first time you forget who you are and swagger instead of sway, or fail to lower your eyes demurely when one of Drax's men questions you, or speak like a general instead of a wench, you will find yourself caught -- the proud 'protector of the crown' hiding in a woman's skirts."

The guild master faced forward and started the wagon once more.

"And if Drax gets his hands on you," he continued, "you just might discover firsthand what its like to BE a large attractive wench, instead of pretending to be one for a short time. More than that, you will put at risk everything we've worked so hard to put in place to topple the usurper."

There was a long silence, and they rode for several minutes before Lord Nesbit sighed and shook his head.

"It pains me to admit it," he said, looking down at his faux chest, "but it appears you are a better soldier than I am."

"Perish the thought!" Toby replied with a small smile. "You are a magnificent soldier, and without your guidance our whole plan might come to naught. What I am, milord, at least when I am dressed like this, is a better woman than you. And for me to bring you inside the castle walls . . . in order to make our rebellion a success . . . you must learn to be as good a woman as I."

"But this is madness!" The general said, his frustration evident. "I can't be a woman. All this is nothing but pretense! The hair, the chest, the hips. None of it can make me think like a woman. It's impossible."

"And that, Uncle, is why you fail." The guild master smiled and laid a hand on the general's sleeve. "Of course you can think like a woman. After all, you put yourself in the mind of an enemy commander every time you plan a battle, so you can determine what he might do next. In this way, you position your men in such a way to turn his advance to your advantage. Is that not true?"

Nesbit nodded. Tobias nodded back. "You can use that same skill here.”

The general shook his head roughly, his long curls whipping from side to side. “I have much more in common with an enemy general than I do with my wife, or my daughter.”

“No matter how different you think women might be, they are still human, driven by the same needs that drive men. They just want friendship, love, family, and the touch of a caring partner — someone who wants them as much as they want him.”

Toby fell silent, leaving Neville to think. After a time, the nobleman spoke again.

“Not so very different, after all.” His voice was slightly rough with feeling, as he thought of his wife and what she must be going through without him.

Toby nodded. “Emotions drive us all, Uncle. Many men deny them, and some foolishly think of them as a weakness, but a smart man can see how feelings are bringing the entire kingdom together in rebellion. Pride and anger, mixed with love for the prince and his father, are turning the entire population into an army. Add hatred for Drax the usurper, and you see the power emotions have.”

It was the general’s turn to nod. The guild master continued. “Unlike men, woman are taught from an early age to embrace their feelings and act on them, albeit indirectly. They understand their own motives more than men do, and use the weapons God gave them to achieve their goals.”

“Weapons?” Neville was confused. Tobias sighed.

“Nature’s arsenal, Uncle. The curve of hip, the narrow waist, the ample bosom. The hair, the lips, the eyes. A touch here, a whispered word there. And most important, the lust you feel every time you see a comely wench.” Lord Nesbit snorted and looked away. The guild master smiled.

“It should come as no surprise. After all, your muscles and your eye were trained to wield a sword or shoot a bow. Of course women are taught to use their weapons effectively as well, to best capture their objective. Part of what made you see me as a woman in that tavern was the way I behaved — how I moved, how I approached you, spoke to you, touched you. I acted the way a woman acts when she wants a man, and you saw me as I wished you to see me.”

They rode for a time in silence, and it stretched to a half hour or more before the general spoke. "So . . . how do I . . . create that illusion? What must I do . . . for this masquerade to succeed?"

"Cultivate the illusion, in your own mind, that you were never anything other than sweet and lusty Gwendolyn, traveling merchant and loving mother of the equally lusty Jenny. Feel the part. Live the part." Tobias put his hand on Neville's shoulder. "Let your mind match your appearance. Be the woman you once pretended to be."

He shifted uncomfortably in his dress, and almost couldn't bring himself to look at his nephew. "I am not sure I can."

"Oh, Uncle, have some faith! If I, a lowly thief, can do it, certainly a man of your most excellent accomplishments can do the same?" Toby threw his uncle a grin, but it slipped away when he saw the fear in Lord Nesbit's eyes. His tone grew serious. "To make her real to others, you must start by making her real to you. Give her a past, and a present. Where did she come from? What does she want? What brings her to the castle?"

"Once you build her history, move your mind and heart into it until it becomes yours, and you become her. The disguise will help -- you cannot move as a man would move with hips and a chest like that. Smaller steps, a different posture . . . "

The general still looked unsure, and Tobias sighed. "Embrace the illusion and let it embrace you. It is a hard battle, but you've fought hard battles before. You can win this one, and you will. Because if you become Gwen . . . truly become her . . . no one will look at you and see 'the protector of the crown.' This I guarantee."

With a thought, the guild master slipped into his role as Jenny. Neville watched the process with a sense of awe. 'She's so real,' he thought. 'Can I ever do that?'

"Come on, Mum," she whispered in her sweetest tones, love pouring from her eyes as she reached out to touch Neville's cheek. The general was so surprised, he let the fingertips stay. "Bring Gwen to life, so that Regina and Mel might live. And so we may get our kingdom back, in the end."

The silence descended again, but it was a thoughtful one. Jenny turned back to driving the wagon, and left Lord Nesbit to think about Gwendolyn's past . . . and her future.

###

When the guard opened the door to her father's bedchambers, Regina was surprised to find Drax standing beside a small table by the window. He was dressed in black and silver, and his face was carefully arranged to give no hint of what he was thinking, or why he had called Regina to this meeting — both things the former prince wanted very much to know.

“Ah, Princess,” the usurper said smoothly, a small smile twitching his lips. “Do come in. We have much to discuss.” Drax turned his attention to the guard. “You may go. Wait outside until I call you.”

The soldier opened his mouth to object, but the warning flash in Drax’s eyes made him reconsider. He nodded once, spun smartly on his heel and marched out, letting the door swing shut behind him. Drax considered the closed door for a moment and nodded.

“And now we are alone,” he said, and turned to Regina. She stood by the entrance, her back straight, her chest out, and her head high. The usurper was both surprised and dismayed by the combination of her beauty and her self-possession. In all of his previous battles, Drax had never failed quite so spectacularly as he had with this one stubborn prince. Despite all of the time and effort spent, all he had done was create an equally stubborn princess. She had serviced him as well or better than any pet he’d ever made, but it was all for duty, and a sacrifice any true noble would have given gladly to protect someone he — she cared about.

The fact that the person she protected was little more than a serving wench only served to frustrate Drax further. ‘That he would fight so hard for someone of such little importance! No wonder the people of this land loved King Stephen so much,’ he thought savagely, ‘if he produced a son like this.’

“Please,” Drax said with a smile. “Do sit. I have some refreshments on the table there. Food and drink that befits royalty, as we both know you still are.”

Regina nodded, her lips twitching into a small, brief smile. She moved gracefully across the room and sat primly in the chair next to the food. Drax moved to sit opposite her, and poured wine for each of them into cups of gold. “I must admit, I am impressed. Despite what Morden and my physicians from the orient have done to your body, you still remain undeniably . . . you. I seldom lose, but with Reginald’s heart still firmly beating in that woman’s frame you wear, I can almost taste defeat, rising like bile in the back of my throat. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care.”

“I would say I am sorry for the inconvenience, but that would be lying as well,” the princess replied, her tone curt but her words framed with the almost musical lilting of her new voice. “And I would prefer not to waste another lie on you after the weeks of deception I engaged in during our little . . . game.” She took a dainty sip of the wine and nodded. “I see you’ve chosen the best of my father’s cellar. I did not think you possessed such a discerning palette.”

“I don’t.” Regina raised an eyebrow, and Drax smiled again. “This bottle was with the ones locked carefully away in the darkest part of the wine rooms, with a key only your father held. I wanted to treat you to something precious, and familiar from your old life. To choose a man’s most valued possessions, always look for what is most highly protected.” Regina said nothing, lowering her eyes as she took another sip. Drax frowned. “As you wish, then. Truth between us, always, from this point on.”

The pretender rose and walked to the window, then turned and faced the princess. “Although it galls me to admit it, I cannot break you to my will. I cannot make you a pet without resorting to methods I find little more than a cheat.” His mouth moved as if tasting something foul. His tone was bitter. “Even the lowest slop boy on the poorest farm in the land could break a man . . . or a woman . . . with that wretched substance. I consider using it unworthy of me, and a clear admission of my own failure.”

Regina nodded. “I can see that,” she said, almost tentatively. And she could. It was an odd feeling -- as if seeing the world through the eyes of her father’s killer was something she never expected to do.

“For you, it is the thrill of the hunt," she continued. "The matching of wits and skills that makes the game appealing. It’s not enough just to win. You have to win through your own efforts, or the victory is hollow. To claim a conquest after using that substance would be like tying down a boar and killing it where it stands, instead of stalking it through the forest with nothing but your mind, your heart, and your steel between you and Death.”

Drax’s eyes flashed. “Exactly! You understand very well.”

Regina heard the "for a woman" Drax had left unsaid. She was surprised the warlord seemed to forget so easily what she had been before. She looked up at her captor, her voice flat with suppressed emotion.

"In spite of what you've done to me, you yourself admitted that I am still myself inside. I know what it means to be a warrior. Of course I understand. After all, what use is victory if there is no chance of defeat? If you kill an unarmed man with a sharpened broadsword while dressed in full armor, is the battle even worth fighting?"

The princess took another sip and placed her cup carefully upon the table. “So we are at an impasse, then. You cannot defeat me without defeating yourself. And keeping the heir to the throne alive wouldn’t suit your purposes either, since it would leave your claim to my kingdom still contested.”

Drax walked slowly back to his chair and sat, his eyes never leaving the young woman who sat across from him.

“That last part,” he said slowly, “isn’t necessarily true. There is one way that leaving you alive would actually ensure that my claim is recognized as right and proper.”

Regina looked at the usurper, curiosity filling her eyes. Drax stared back at her, and she felt a chill run up her spine.

"In recent days, your people seem to have become used to my rule." His voice betrayed a hint of confusion, as if their sudden submission left him baffled. Since Regina knew their supposed surrender was all a ruse, she wasn't surprised. But she feigned astonishment and a touch of disbelief.

Drax waved a hand. "It's true, and I am as surprised as you are . . . princess. But for all their bending of the knee to my lords and knights, I know they still regard my army as invaders, and myself as a mere pretender to your father's throne. I would expect nothing less, actually."

He rose again and paced to the window. Regina had never seen Drax behave this way before. It was as if he had suddenly been stripped of his unwavering certainty and left adrift in a sea of indecisiveness.

"What is more surprising still," he said, looking out over the land in front of the castle, "at least to me, is that somehow, your subjects know what has happened to you. And they still regard you as their rightful ruler."

There was a long pause, and Drax sighed. "Which brings me to my point . . . your highness. I can see only one course of action that will allow us to move forward while still maintaining the balance of power between us. I have come to respect you as a worthy adversary, and perhaps someday that might . . . become more. But the crisis is now, and it is vitally important to both of us and to the kingdom that you consider carefully what your answer will be to my next question."

Drax took a deep breath. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride and my queen, and ruling this kingdom by my side?"

© 2005-2008 as a work in progress, all rights reserved. Posted with permission of the author.