#potionless

“If I don't sit on the throne I need to figure out a good impressive pose to take when they come in. And it's hard to stand out in here.” Marianne gestured at the high ceiling and skylight.

“Why do you feel the need to pose?”

“Why do you?”

Bog looked startled. “I'm not—I'm not posing!”

“Don't be embarrassed. You're very good at it.”

“I would like you to stop, please.”

“I don't know if I can.”

The fairies and elves were about to enter, bringing with them her lying scumbag of an ex and the king of the fairies who might possibly be her birth father. It would take duct-tape to keep Marianne still and quiet with all that strolling towards her over the horizon.

“Is the sword acceptable?” Bog asked, giving up.

“Yes. Good. Great. Amazing. You really know the way to a girl's heart: well-balanced blades with a lethal edge.” She slid it a few inches out of its sheath and then back in. “It always surprises me that it doesn't sound like it does in the movies. I can't help it. It's embedded in the foundations of my being.”

“I think I understood the first two sentences.”

“Those were probably the only relevant ones anyway.”

“Tough girl, could I make a request?”

“Sure, sure, what's up?”

“Take a moment and breathe.”

Marianne didn't want to breathe. If she let herself take a full breath she would have enough air to fuel a scream. Or maybe she would bolt. Intellectually she knew she wouldn't get anywhere fast but her primal instincts were telling her it was the only sane option.

“This might be an awkward request considering our last conversation, but . . . could you hold my hand?”

Bog looked panicked and bewildered.

“Okay, sorry, that was weird. Weird request. Made things weird. Sorry.”

The goblins were thronging around the throne, coalescing into a semi-organized mob. No defined formations but it looked as if they wouldn't step on each other when a brawl broke out. Almost everyone's eyes were fixed on the throne room entrance, waiting for the fairies to be escorted in.

A smaller goblin wandered onto the steps looking lost. Bog kicked it sharply. “Look after the gaps in the north side!” he snapped as it flew into the crowd. Marianne thought she might have seen it bounce when it hit the floor. She definitely saw it throw a vague salute and scurry away, enthusiastic now that it had purpose. It's life appeared, to Marianne, to be rough but beautifully straightforward.

“Here.” Bog snapped again, this time at Marianne. She looked at his offered hand, confused. Bog made an impatient beckoning motion. She realized he was letting her hold his hand. She took it. He pulled away. Embarrassment at misunderstanding Bog's gesture barely got a chance to heat up Marianne's cheeks before Bog said, “No, your other hand. On my right, or you won't be able to draw your sword.”

“Oh.” Marianne moved to his other side and cautiously raised her hand again. He took it and linked her arm with his like they were acting out parts in some sort of period drama. It did look more official, Marianne supposed. Less like she was clinging to him. “Thanks.”

Bog twitched his shoulders restlessly. “A good enough pose, then?”

“Arm in arm with the Bog King at the back of his goblin hoard? Not bad at all. If only there were discordant bass rifts building up in the background, that'd complete it.”

“I'll make a note for the next occasion.”

“Oh. I forgot that you actually know what electric guitars are. There’s a story there I’d love to hear.”

“I can imagine what you’d say about it. Half-imagine, that is, unless I replace every third sentence if gibberish.”

Marianne made a face at him. She made another face at Dawn who was smirking at Marianne and Bog’s exchange. Marianne didn’t mind the smirk too much. It was better than the tight worried look Dawn had had since they got the announcement of the fairies’ imminent arrival.

Shuffling and growling gave away the moment of arrival before a goblin could scurry up with official word. Bog banged his staff on the floor and the growling was cut off. “Let them in.” he ordered. Marianne thought her grip on Bog’s arm might crack it open like a lobster. She moved to let go and grip the hilt of her sword instead.

“Don’t ruin the pose.” Bog muttered.

Marianne found it very difficult not to giggle and could not suppress a smile at all.

The smile dropped off again with the entrance of a troop of elves. Aside from stalks of grass carried like banners or pendents none of them were visibly armed, which made her frown. A quick glance at Dawn showed Marianne that the princess was frowning too.

The fairies that marched in behind the elves were armed and covered from head to toe in  armor like Roland’s, aside from being silver and presence of helmets. Naturally Roland would never have worn a helmet and denied onlookers a chance of beholding his glorious visage.

At the back of the procession sleek yellow curls bounced into view. It was Roland, of course, head and shoulders above the rest of the fairies because he was . . .

Marianne forgot to be nervous, taking an exaggerated double-take. “Is that . . .” Marianne looked up at Bog, but realized he was the wrong person to ask. She turned to Dawn, “Is that—the squirrel steed, um, usual?”

“Chipper? Yes, why?”

“Chipper?!” Marianne’s voice shot up into a squeak. Roland was riding a squirrel of all things and the squirrel’s name was Chipper. Maybe it made sense at the fairy scale of things but Marianne had not expected anything of the sort and it was all the more ridiculous for the unexpectedness. “I can’t believe Roland is a Disney princess.”

“I wish you came with a translation key,” Bog muttered, but the jibe was half-hearted. He was focusing all his murderous intent on Roland.

Equally unexpected, and ten times as impressive in Marianne’s opinion, was the lizard that strolled in behind Disney princess Roland and his woodland creature companion. Maybe it was the saddle, maybe it was the disney vibe, but the squirrel looked as harmless as a squirrel of usual size—or scale. The lizard did not. It was huge, magnificent, and terrifying, probably the relative size of a dragon if dragons where a real thing. It certainly had the teeth for the part.

Sunny and another elf were riding on the lizard it like it was no big thing. The goblins murmured in an appreciative tone at the sight of them. Looked like catching a ride on a lizard, unlike a squirrel, was not usual. Sunny hadn’t just had it stashed somewhere beforehand either, considering Dawn’s open-mouthed astonishment at the sight of her best friend’s sweet ride.

“Okay, the kid gets point for style,” Marianne muttered, tearing her eyes away to locate something far more terrifying than any mere gigantic lizard. The innocuous pink bottle must have been somewhere nearby or Roland wouldn’t have made his entrance. Marianne squinted at the lizard, scanning for horrible pink sparkles and silently begging for Sunny to have the love potion and not Roland. The antidote wasn’t ready, the love potion was still a potent threat.

Finally Marianne spotted the bottle. Roland had it.

Marianne unsheathed her sword.

Bog didn’t stop her.

“Your bog kingness,” Roland unsheathed his smile, sharp as Marianne’s blade, and aimed it at Bog. He almost immediately dropped it. His eyes went huge, taking in the sight of Marianne standing arm-in-arm with the king of the Dark Forest. In fact, Roland gaped most unbecomingly, mouth hanging wordlessly open. The sight brought a pleased smirk to Marianne’s face.

Sadly, Roland recovered, coughing to give himself a moment to collect himself then slapping the smile back on his face and adding some extra shine to make up for the lapse.

Bog dragged his staff into a better fighting stance, sending chipped fragments of the floor flying. He was grinding his teeth again, too, quite audibly. Oh, what a mood, Marianne thought, eyes still on the potion, what an absolute mood the Bog King was. She adjusted the grip on her sword and reluctantly unhooked her arm from Bog’s so she could take a step forward.

Dawn flitted in front of Bog and Marianne and shook her head. Both of them gestured pointedly at Roland and the love potion. Dawn shook her head again and said softly. “Diplomacy first, remember?”

“I can diplomatically return his headless carcass to the fields once I reclaim the potion.” Bog hissed, but following Dawn’s lead and keeping his voice low.

Dawn shoved her hand out, fingers spread, “Five minutes! Please, five minutes!”

“Then I can send him to the choir invisible?” Marianne asked, feeling that she was going to strain something from keeping her voice soft and level when she wanted to scream a battle cry and go for Roland’s throat.

“The what?” Bog asked in a resigned way.

“Shuffle him off the mortal coil, send him underground to push up daisies—oh it’s so hard when nobody gets your references. Look, I wanna--” Marianne drew her thumb across her throat in a slicing motion.

“Er,” Dawn hesitated, “We can . . . discuss that in five minutes? Pretty please?”

“Fine.” Bog snapped, not immune Dawn’s big blue puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.” Marianne said, admitting to herself she wasn’t immune to the eyes either. She lowered her sword to her side but did not sheathe it.

Bog swung his staff around to point at Roland and raised his voice back up to a boom. “Speak.”

“I’ve come for the princesses-esses--,” Roland coughed again, “I’ve come for the princesses.”

“Princesses?” Bog articulated the word with deliberate clarity. “We’ve only been graced by the visit of one princess. One princess who has not declared herself ready to leave. Your highness?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn.

“I’m afraid our business here is not yet complete,” Dawn said, pink in the face but admirably haughty. “I believe I sent word to inform father of this. Has he not received my official royal message?”

Marianne surmised from the twitch of Roland’s eye that tampering with royal mail was a big no-no. Twitch or no, Roland’s smile was rock-solid now and smug with indulgence. “Your highness,” Roland said with all the condescension that could be crammed into two words, “I did run into a goblin carrying a letter but I was unsure of its intentions, wandering around in the fairy kingdom with a message purportedly from yourself. I couldn’t let it stir up trouble with false information.”

“You twit!” Dawn squeaked.

“Yeah!” Sunny said from the back of the lizard, “He stole the message! He didn’t even know what it was until he took it! And we were barely outside the border of the forest there was no reason to pick on the messenger!”

Dawn beamed at Sunny for a moment before putting on a stern face and turning back to Roland. “This is a serious accusation, Roland. It’s up to the king to decide if an official communication is authentic or not. You should have done everything you could to aid in the delivery and accelerate the process of authentication.”

“The elf doesn’t understand these things, finding a goblin on our side of the border in the current circumstances—”

“The current circumstances do not permit any disregard for official proceedings. You admitted yourself you took the message without cause, independent of Sunny’s accusations.”

“Now, now, darlin’—“

“However, this matter is not our priority at the moment. In addition to the message I see you are in possession of property of the Dark Forest: the love potion. Did you come by it in the same manner as you did the message?”

Marianne wanted to applaud. Dawn could really play the dignified royal princess to perfection if she cared to. Not only that, she gave Bog the perfect cue to step back into the conversation.

“The matter of how he obtained the love potion should be discussed after he hands it over, yes?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn. Dawn nodded emphatically.

There was a strained quality to Roland’s smile now. “Not at all—ah, that is, neither were obtained in any way except--”

“He stole it from us!” Sunny piped up, “Kinda. The imp grabbed it from us and Roland grabbed it from the imp. It was Pare and I who got it back.”

“Really?” Dawn asked, delighted.

“Yeah, well, we were lucky,” Sunny rubbed the back of his neck, looking pleased and sheepish under the focus of Dawn’s sparkling delight.

“I don’t care how it was obtained,” Bog said, “not at this very moment anyway. I just want it returned. Now.”

“I feel the same,” Roland said with a poor imitation of sympathy, “I simply want to have the princesses safely returned and escort them home, as per the king’s request.”

“The princess said no.” Marianne snapped.

Dawn nodded, “Until daddy—father—sends a representative to take my place it’s my responsibility to look after the citizens of the fields that have been afflicted by the love potion.”

“And here I am!” Roland flourished his hand. “Present and representing!”

“In possession of stolen goods,” Bog snarled, pointing at the love potion sparkling from Roland’s side-saddle. “Hand it over, representative.”

Roland looked hurt. “Now, I’ve been very polite, considering you kidnapped our princesses--”

“Who’s kidnapped?” Dawn demanded.

“Who’s a princess?” Marianne snapped.

“Oh, Marianne, darlin’, let me handle this and I’ll explain it all after. I’ve got such a surprise for you, now, shhh.”

“Did he just shush me? He just shushed me. Bog, he just shushed me,”

“He did. The fool.”

“Tsk,” Roland shook his head, just enough to make his hair artfully bounce. “You’ve both been ensnared by goblin magic. Never fear, I’ll retrieve you safely soon enough. Your bogness, this is what you want?” Roland held up the bottle of love potion.

Everyone in the room tensed. Marianne’s eyes were fastened to the stopper on the bottle. One flick and it would be off and the glitter would spread unchecked. Bog was gnashing his teeth severely enough to make a dentist cry and was just short of frothing at the mouth. Somehow he still spared the breath to tell Marianne, “He’s too far away to use it.”

“I will gladly trade this troublesome bottle for the princesses—ah, for the two ladies you have in your possession. Let them go and it’s all yours.” He swished the potion around inside the bottle.

The elves had been watching all of this with fascination, swiveling back and forth to follow the conversation, their grass stalk banners fluttering back and forth with them. Most goblins were lurking around Roland’s dangling feet or climbing the soft rotted walls to find a better vantage point to watch or, perhaps, pounce. The few fairies that accompanied Roland just looked uncomfortable. All of them drew back sharply when Roland started gently swirling the potion around. In the breath of quiet the lovesick prisoners made themselves heard again. Roland winked at Marianne. “Don’t worry, buttercup, I’ve got this handled.”

“Is that a threat?” Marianne muttered through gritted teeth.

“A simple exchange,” Roland continued.

“If I needed to be exchanged I would have arranged it myself,” Dawn huffed, “Bog doesn’t need to bargain for his own property!”

“I’m pretty sure it’s been five minutes,” Marianne said, softly enough for only Dawn and Bog to hear. Dawn responded with a ‘yikes!’ expression. Bog sank a little further into his defensive crouch, ready to spring, wings vibrating. The goblins picked up on the silent cue and tension spread across the room like the calm before a storm. The elves seemed to sense something too because they were surreptitiously edging their way to stand near Sunny’s lizard.

“Objections?” Bog asked Dawn.

“Why do I feel like you’re not really asking?” Dawn replied, looking to be on the cusp of accepting Roland’s death as inevitable. Poor kid, Marianne thought. She was standing against both sides of the fight, the only one who actually wanted things to end peacefully even though it was plain to see peace was never an option.

“BK, BK!” a goblin scurried from the entrance, bouncing off Chipper in its rush, “Berries in the fork mores west!” Bog stopped crouching and fell into a slump. He mouthed something that might have been, ‘why me?’. Everyone else forgot to be nervous, foreheads wrinkled as they muttered the goblin’s message, trying to find sense in it, if there was any to find.

“Is that a code?” Marianne asked, unintentionally relaxing. Even her wings, which technically didn’t exist at the moment, drooped from the disappearing tension.

“It’s an aggravation.” he replied.

To the benefit of Bog’s rising blood pressure a second goblin popped up, shouting, “More fairies, sire! More fairies in the dark forest!”

A fanfare cut through the ensuing uproar and more armored fairies flitted in through the entrance followed by a . . . a . . . it was one of those chairs, the sort of thing you saw in movies about decadent ancient times where royalty was schlepped around in them. Paladins. Placards. Something. Anyway one was being flown into the castle. Marianne scrubbed her eyes with her knuckles. She was so tired. When would this ever end? How many more fairies would cram themselves into the castle before it burst at the seams and crumbled into dust?

The chair was set down and the passenger, a round man in armor, was up and out of the chair the second it touched the ground, stumbling a little before regaining their balance. “Sweetheart!” he called, “You’re alright!”

“Daddy?!” Dawn’s feet came off the floor in surprise.

Marianne’s chest did a weird squeezing thing and her stomach clenched itself into knots. Dawn’s dad. The fairy king. The lost princess’s father. Somehow Marianne’s free hand found Bog’s and squeezed it as hard as her chest was squeezing her heart.

“You’re really alright?” the king had waded through elves and goblins to dash up to his daughter and grab her hands.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dawn said with a touch of sulkiness.

The king didn’t seem to notice. He was a heavy, gray-haired man wearing armor in the same style as Roland’s only rounder to accommodate a wider waistline. Marianne wondered if it was rude to wonder if he couldn’t fly under his own power because he was too heavy. The few fairies she’d seen were all skinny, even the armored ones. She herself was skinnier as well as tiny, she remembered. The harmless thought made her chest constrict again.

“My little girl!” the fairy king caught Dawn in a crushing hug.

“Daddy! I’m a representative.”

“They didn’t hurt you? Do anything to you?” the fairy king demanded.

“Wow.” Marianne said, “Rude.”

“Lacking courtesy, indeed.” Bog agreed. Both he and Marianne were watching Roland out of the corner of their eye. Roland looked displeased at the sudden change in circumstances.

“Why should I be courteous to the one who kidnapped my daughter!” the fairy king pushed Dawn behind him and spread out his wings to shield her.

Bog snorted. “I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried, Dagda. If anyone besides her is to be blamed then blame the love potion that caused her afflicted people to have need of her help.”

“They have other prisoners, sire,” Roland explained helpfully, having followed in the king’s wake to keep himself in the conversation.

Bog snorted. “They are held for their protection while they’re under sway of the potion! I take back what I said about blaming the potion. Blame the instigator, your polished up little would-be hero, Ronald!”

“Roland.” Marianne said without thinking. Bog’s answering smirk told her he knew perfectly well what Roland’s name was. It was extremely difficult not step on Bog’s performance by bursting into laughter. That problem faded when Marianne saw that the fairy king was looking at her with a puzzled expression, completely distracted from whatever defense he had been about to put forth for Roland. The horrible scarf of truth that had slipped from her eyes and pulled tight on her throat was flickering in the wind, attracting the king’s attention. She could see the words forming on his lips: “Have we met?”

“Not that I remember.” Marianne said promptly. Nearly simultaneously, actually. It was absolutely true though. She had no memory of this worried looking man who had a similar expression to Dawn when he was troubled. It was easy to compare, with Dawn peeking around his wing looking very troubled indeed.

“Enough!” with a sweeping gesture Bog redirected everyone’s attention to himself, though he had to let Marianne’s hand go to do so, “I’ve mushrooms in love with fairies and brownies in love with frogs, my kingdom is in chaos, and the source of it all is right here,” he jabbed a claw at Roland, “and here,” he jabbed at Sunny. “Unless we want fields and forest both in utter chaos you will return the potion to me now.”

“Now, now,” Roland waved his hand, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just go around pointing fingers and spouting unsubstantiated accusations. The best thing to do would be get the princesses home and sort this all out peacefully.”

“Very true, Roland.” the fairy king nodded. Then frowned.” Princesses?”

“Ah,” Roland beamed, resorting to smiles when caught off script, “There’s some—I have some—there’s this interesting thing—Marianne, darlin’, I’d hoped to break this to you gently--”

“Stop.” Marianne ordered. “Stop!”

“Now, buttercup--”

Marianne knocked his hand aside with the hilt of her sword when he reached out to her. The fairy king was staring at her with a deep frown. “Marianne?” he almost whispered.

“Yes—no! Not--!” Marianne stammered.

“Leave her alone!” Bog growled, “She’s one of mine and not yours to question, Dagda.”

“But, who is she--?”

“It’s done, it’s done!” Griselda pattered into the room, Sugar Plum’s cage in hand, “She says the antidote is ready!”

“Antidote?” Roland looked disconcerted.

“You said her name was Marianne?” the fairy king persisted.

“Dad, leave her alone!” Dawn tugged on his wing, “That’s something for later.”

“Hello, hello!” Plum said within her cage, “Isn’t this a fine audience. Oh, and my, don’t you look nice in your wrinkle, dear! Those are difficult to make, I’ll have you know, but a teensy bit easier for changelings since they’re already a little out of place. Still! I hope you appreciate—“

“The antidote! Hand it over!” Bog cut in.

“Changeling?” the fairy king’s face had a look that Marianne was horribly sure meant that some sort of understanding was forming.

“Antidote?” Roland repeated, slightly louder.

“Yes, antidote! Now hand it over you sparkly trickster or I’ll force it out of you!” Griselda shook the cage as if perhaps the antidote would fall out.

“Heeey!” Plum drifted dizzily around inside her blue globe, “Give a girl a minute, can’t you? Rushing magic is no joke.”

Bog snatched up the cage by its stick. “Antidote,” he growled, “now.”

“Okay, fine! It’s . . . a riddle!” Plum threw her arms wide like she was cheering.

“A—a riddle—but what was all the stuff for?!”

“Oh, you know, in prison it’s kind of hard to shop!”

“A riddle?” Roland was starting to relax and Marianne felt a chill.

“Spit it out, then,” Marianne hissed.

“Hold your squirrels, princess, don’t rush me!”

Marianne was very much in a rush and everything was going far too slow, except the thoughts whirling behind the fairy king’s hopeful eyes and the words that might slip off Roland’s silver tongue any moment. Truth or not she wasn’t ready to handle it here and now. She grabbed the stick herself and shook it twice as hard as Griselda had. “Now! Please!”

“Fine, fine, fine! The antidote is the one thing more powerful than the potion! Geez! You people have no sense of presentation.”

There was silence except a cricket chirping. Marianne saw a goblin nudge the cricket to make it shut up.

“That’s—that’s it?” Bog asked, “All that and you dish out some poor excuse for a riddle? Argh! It doesn’t even matter,” Bog grabbed Plum’s cage and tossed it back to Griselda who caught it and gave it another vicious shake, “Once I have the potion this will be contained and we can pry the answers out of you at our leisure.”

“Stronger than the potion?” Marianne pondered, flexing her arm, “Does that mean I can just punch the love out of it?”

Bog made a noise that might have been a strangled snort of amusement. “Powerful, she said powerful.”

“Now, now,” Roland called their full attention back to himself, “As I was saying, your majesty, on my recent trip I made the most extraordinary discovery—”

Marianne’s sword and Bog’s staff swung toward Roland. “Shut up,” Marianne said, feeling like she was clutching uselessly the crumbling shingles at the edge of a roof, fighting against the fall she knew was coming no matter what she did.

“Dad, don’t listen to him!” Dawn tugged hard on her father’s arm, “I can tell you what’s going on, just listen!”

“I just want to tell everyone how I fell in love with a beautiful girl and that we are the perfect match.” Roland smiled a smile so earnest and loving that Marianne felt physically repulsed. He was trying to charm her. He had been trying to charm everyone since he had arrived, she realized, but the goblins seemed to be resistant to his strain of manipulation. Even Griselda, who was ready to see romance wherever it was or could be, had her generous mouth twisted in displeasure.

The fairy king did not seem to have the same resistance, or at least not as much, because he was listening to Roland intently.

But Marianne’s assumptions were disproved when the fairy king looked coolly at Roland and said, “Oh? And not too long ago you were madly in love with Dawn.”

“Hearts change,” Roland said solemnly, “People change, we grow, we realize what was once our greatest desire no longer suits, we discover true love and everything before that is just washed away. No, my darlin’, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

“Talk about true love after you put down the potion,” Marianne scoffed with more bravado than she felt. Her sword was trembling, fatigue was bearing down on her and she wasn’t sure how long she could fight it.

“Aw, my l’il princess—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Marianne screamed and raised her sword, but Roland was quicker, better rested, and parried her blade, knocking it out of her hand and grabbing her shoulder. The metal joints of his armored hand pinch the hellebore and started to the shred the petals. A patch of it tore off when Marianne twisted herself free and dived for her sword. The dive went a little too well and she couldn’t stop it, the floor rising up to meet her face.

There was a clang, the ‘oof’ of someone getting the wind knocked out of them, and the floor stopped with a jerk. Bog had caught her around the waist. She was hauled up and pressed against Bog’s carapace while he looked down at her with a searching, worried look that she hated much less than the fairy king’s. “Are you alright?”

“That is a loaded question, your crunchiness.” Marianne resisted closing her eyes, hugging Bog, and pretending everything else in the world didn’t exist. It was an incredibly appealing thought. “Do you want the physical or mental workup?”

“Ah, you’re fine.”

The wrinkle was ruined. Marianne could tell by the uncomfortable feeling of Bog’s arm crumpling the wings crammed under the wrinkle. Their sudden weight was what had accelerated her dive. She shoved Bog away—not too hard—and stripped the wrinkle off while looking around for Roland. He was being helped up off the floor by two fairies in silver armor, out of play for the moment, to Marianne’s relief. It gave her a little breathing room.

The fairy king gasped.

Oh. Right. Marianne looked down at the ruined wrinkle. Dawn had said her mother had purple wings. Purple wings like the ones that had recently attached themselves to Marianne’s back.

“Marianne?” the king asked softly.

“Dad, don’t!” Dawn said, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just—”

The fairy king ignored her. “Marianne? My—my little girl?”

Marianne’s heart crumpled up like tissue paper. The king looked so painfully hopeful that she didn’t want to just slap that hope away. That was what was crumpling her heart, forcing it into the wrong shape, this expectation for her to be someone she didn’t want to be.

Pink exploded in her face.

Marianne coughed, but it was only instinct. Aside from the smell of primroses and a light tickling sensation on her face the splash of love potion was barely a physical presence. A wave of euphoria swept through her, washing away all her fatigue and worries, or glossing over them anyway, with a manic excitement.

“Buttercup,” a familiar and cajoling drawl came from directly in front of her and she felt a thrill of . . . something. The pink sparkles still dazzled her and she couldn’t even make out shapes in the glitter. “Hey, my darlin’ buttercup,”

The voice, yes, just in front of her, maybe even reaching out toward her. She turned in the direction of the sweet cajoling, listened for the sound of metal armor, tickled and thrilled all over in sparkling pink waves and the golden ribbons that the voice looped around her crumpled tissue paper heart.

But the strangling truth that had choked her and wrapped around her heart wouldn’t let the ribbons tighten or the pink stick to her. The terrible strangling truth helped her now, told her how much she loathed that voice, and gave her the chance to draw back her arm and send her fist toward the sticky sweet sound of Roland’s voice.

Jarring pain to her knuckles let her know she had struck true.

With the same hand she grabbed at the air to her side, the side Bog had stood on when they posed together in front of the throne.

Her hand met his.

The pink faded, a warm, somewhat sweaty hand covering most of her face. From the explosion of pink to Bog’s hand shielding her face there had been no more than a few seconds.

“Tough girl?” Bog asked hesitantly.

“Roland is a skunk.” She said, figuring it was the easiest why to declare where her feelings stood. She swore she heard the castle groan, pushed outward by the collective relieved sigh from the room. “Where is he?”

“Being sat on by Brutus,” Bog replied.

“Oh, I want to see that.”

“There’s still no antidote!”

“Calm your carapace, prickles, I’m not brain-dead yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet. Ugh, I know I’m not in love, my hand hurts too much for me to be in love. I think I got his jaw, did I get his jaw?”

“You did.” Bog assured her.

“Nice. I guess . . . I need a blindfold?”

“Give me a second, lovey,” Griselda said, rustling about nearby, “I’ll make something out of this wrinkle. Though I wouldn’t mind if you took a little peek at my boy.”

“Mother.” Unexpectedly Bog sounded much more aghast than embarrassed.

Something whirred inside Marianne’s tired brain. It was a dumb little whir and chunk of fatigued cogs and gears on the edge of busting right out of her head. The truth had saved her from looking in Roland’s eyes. It had stopped her from giving into his golden charm. Yes, she was getting a very dumb idea.

Impulsively Marianne shoved his hand aside and looked straight up and into Bog’s eyes.

He physically recoiled, averting his eyes.

“Too late, baby-blues.” Marianne stood on tip-toe to get closer to his face.

Bog looked at her out of the very corner of his eye, “You—you don’t want to . . .?”

“Sing love songs? Kiss you?”

“K-kiss--?!” Bog choked. Marianne felt tickling in her stomach and a thrill up her spine, seeing the mighty Bog King blush and stutter.

Marianne shook her head. “Nope.”

“That’s . . . good. Good.”