He grabbed her as soon as he was sure that they were alone in the hallway, demanding an explanation.
“What the hell was that for?” He asked, shaking her from her shoulders.
“Get your paws off from me, Wolverine!” She hissed. He slinked back, releasing her, rage replaced by simmering anger and confusion.
“What the hell are you playing at? We’re going to get you a droid so that your father and Robert can sleep well, knowing that you’re not screwing with your guardian, and a week from now you’ll be united with Robert!”
“We are not replacing you! I don’t fucking care what my father or Robert thinks! I don’t want a pile of bolts and wires, I don’t need it! I already have you, and you’re more than enough to keep me safe!”
“There are more bigger issues at stake than your childish crush! Your father isn’t getting any younger! His enemies aren’t getting any easier to repel! This kingdom needs allies! Your brother can’t take the throne before you are united with Robert, and he has made it clear that my presence in your life, at your side is no longer wanted! You’re getting a droid, and having the ceremony with Robert by the end of this week! Is that clear?”
He hated himself from the moment he opened his mouth, but he had to get through to her somehow. She was too naïve to see the matter at hand for what it really was, too childish to understand what being a princess really meant. When her head sunk he wanted to take back his words, started to reach for her chin, when she suddenly turned to look at him, her cheeks burning bright red, cold gleam in her eyes.
“Childish crush? Don’t flatter yourself. I have certain standards, and you fail to fulfill them. You’re nothing but a reliable piece of machinery. I have been reluctant to part from you, but maybe we really should go and see what the blacksmith has to offer. I’m sure none of the droids he sells are so eager to run their mouth when it would be in their best interest to shut up…”
“Good. Are you ready to go? Should I call the carriage?” He asked, gritting his teeth, trying not to show how much her words had hurt him. In a perverse way he was more proud of her at the moment than he had ever been before.
“Forget the carriage. I’d rather walk. It’s a nice day, and I need some fresh air after all this commotion.”
He settled in front of her to clear the way, trusting the guards that had fallen behind them to take care of threats directed towards her long enough for him to get her to safety. He kept his gaze in the crowd, scanning possible rebels, and his ears tuned to her, her soft footsteps that stopped from time to time when she strayed from the path he had made to admire this or that trinket or scarf.
Sudden gasp made him stop and turn to look at her. She had stopped in front of a tent, staring at her face from the mirror hanging from one of the support beams.
“What is it?” He asked, returning to her, worried that something had happened. She was standing in front of the mirror, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, and he could see naked, honest fear shining from her eyes.
“The ceremony… What if… What if I turn to something really hideous? Something that Robert can’t bare to look at, let alone touch without revulsion?” She uttered, her hand rising to her cheek, fingers skimming over delicately arching bone and skin.
“You won’t.”
“But my mother… She turned blue…”
“And your father loved her very much. Ma… Rogue, it doesn’t matter what happens. After the ceremony Robert is bound to you. His mind is linked together with yours. Your body doesn’t matter, at least it shouldn’t.”
“What about… You had a wife once.”
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
“What does it matter? It was so long time ago that I have already forgotten what she looked like. She… I think she had a red hair. She was a telepath. Kind. A healer. She loved poetry and hated when I wasn’t around to take her to see the plays. She…”
“What happened to her?”
“She died. Long before you were born. Come on, we better get moving…”
He could still remember the night Jean had died. Her screams at the hands of a monster her brother had turned when his ceremony had gone awry. Victor’s transformation had been unfinished when his wife to be had died. It had scarred Victor’s mind and body, made him a raving lunatic, and for some reason he had blamed Jean for the accident. Victor had showed up one night, beaten Logan, breaking most of his bones and then as he lay on the floor half unconscious the monstrosity had moved on to his wife and torn her to pieces with his bare hands. Not something he wanted to reminiscence.
“Here we are…” he huffed from relief when they reached the blacksmith's small shed. He took one last glance from their surroundings and steered the girl he was escorting in, feeling strangely reluctant to follow her. Something told him that the trip wouldn’t end like he had expected to.
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