Inspiration provided by The Brothers Grimm, The Six Swans, and Kate Holmes' retelling, The Wild Swans.
Euphrosyne, Princess of Venus, had had enough.
Six younger brothers she'd been cursed with, six almost sons that she was forced to look after day and night since her mother was too busy attending Queen Serenity to really bother with raising her boys. Six adventurous souls who had the gall to sneak onto the teleportation platform and somehow get themselves to the Earth, the one place in the entire galaxy that they were forbidden to go. Euphrosyne decided that decision must have been the eldest's idea, and resolved to try out the Love and Beauty Shock her mother had been training her with on him the moment she found him.
Of course, what did they do but land themselves in a pickle the very moment they set foot upon the forbidden planet. Swans! The damn fools had gotten themselves turned into swans by that witch Beryl, who turned to Euphrosyne and cursed her as well. Six shirts of nettles she had to knit, all without a word, a hum, a laugh or a song passing her lips until she'd completed the task or her brothers would stay in their swan form forever. She was sorely tempted. For three weeks she'd hidden in this hut, first gathering the nettles, then boiling them and forming them into something that vaguely resembled fabric, and now finally she had begun to work on the actual knitting. Of course, she hadn't the vaguest idea how to knit. She'd wasted a good quarter of her resources just learning the technique. But she was finally on her way, and with any luck, she would be finished before her mother returned to Venus, five weeks from this day, and wondered where in the galaxy her children had gotten to.
She was destined to be unlucky.
Kunzite, General of the Northern Lands of the Golden Kingdom, loyal subject of His Majesty, King Endymion, and head of His Majesty's Royal Companies had had quite enough.
Six fawning females had thrown themselves at him in Endymoin's court, and having Endymion telling him that it was vital he marry someone soon and ensure that whatever sons Prince Endymion bore would have a generation of loyal guards at his side was not helping. Not a single one of the six had ever shut their mouths long enough for him to get in a word edgewise. Why did women chatter on incessantly – and on such boring subjects? Kunzite cared nothing for fashion or gossip when there was a war looming with the rest of the galaxy. Were these women so stupid that they did not understand that a war with the Moon alone would decimate the Earth for generations to come? That it would eliminate their precious fashion?
He turned to his friend and companion, Nephrite, who was paying him an extended visit to avoid one such woman in his own lands, and muttered, so that his men would not hear, "I wish the war would hurry up and start. At least then the women might have something interesting to say. I swear, if I meet a woman who can keep her mouth shut, I'll marry her on the spot."
"Watch what you say, my friend," Nephrite warned teasingly. "The stars have a way of aligning themselves to mock those foolish enough to make such rash vows." Kunzite merely rolled his eyes, despite the sudden strike of lightning that formed almost immediately in front of him. "Seems the stars are working hard in your favor already," Nephrite added, laughing.
He wasn't laughing as hard two hours later when the torrential downpour had separated Kunzite from the rest of the traveling party and his largest concern was that he would be forced to return to Endymion's side and report the death of his most trusted General. Of course, had Nephrite been able to see exactly where Kunzite had ended up, he would have resumed that laughter – perhaps with a slightly hysterical edge to it.
He wasn't lost. They were lost. The High General of His Majesty's Royal Guards simply did not get lost. The only possible explanation was that everyone else, including Nephrite, that star-reading idiot, had gotten lost. The only logical thing to do in this situation was to find somewhere to shelter himself from this drenching rain and wait until they recovered their bearings enough to realize that they were lost and come to him. Kunzite spurred his horse along through the steadily deepening puddles – if they could even be called that, covering the beast's forelocks as they were – trudging as best he could with soaking wet clothes and a chill running along his spine from the hair plastered to his back towards what appeared to be a faint light in the near distance.
As he got closer, he could see that it was a – well, hut was the only word he could come up with – and one in not very good repair, either. He was almost certain he could see the roof leaking from the outside, but the light inside looked warm and he swung himself down from his mount and whipped his cape around himself, slapping himself in the mouth with several pounds of soaking material in the process and quite nearly choking himself with the added weight around his neck. He struggled for a moment to pull it back into its proper position and rapped smartly on the door, preparing himself to be fawned over by whatever crone lived in such a ramshackle dwelling. When the door opened to the startled and wary eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered in any court across the Earth, he found himself as speechless as she appeared to be by the sight of the soaked general on her doorstep.
She shook her head in what appeared to be resignation and stood aside a bit, the warm glow of the fire highlighting her curvaceous bosom and flat stomach as she turned. He sucked in a quick breath and felt his sopping pants begin to tent. Thank Endymion this girl was so obviously an innocent that she wouldn't understand the significance of it if she happened to glance down – and maidens never did, as he knew too well. Maidens never had a clue what went on underneath a man's trousers until they were married – didn't want to know, truth be told. Of course, he was beginning to wonder if he could consider this extremely fetching girl a maiden, what with the way she was staring at the tent in absolute disgust and indignation. She appeared to know exactly what he would like to do with it and Did Not Approve. In fact, the look rather reminded him of Prince Endymion's Nanny, Elsabeth. A right old harridan she'd been, and always ready to give The Look to any of the boys if they'd so much as put a toe out of line. Perhaps this vision in front of him was a nanny to young boys, and that was why she'd perfected The Look. So perfect, in fact, that the tent promptly fell flat.
As he clomped into the room, his feet squishing around in his boots uncomfortably, he noticed that she still had not closed the door, and was, in fact, giving his feet The Look. He saw the muddy footprints he'd left behind on her clean, if worn, floor and offered a smile. "I'm sorry, Maiden." She shook her head, clearly indicating that an apology was simply Not Good Enough. She stomped over to a corner and returned with – a mop? Surely she didn't expect him to clean up her floor? The way she held the mop out indicated otherwise and he squished across the floor to the still-open doorway, snatching the offensive cleaning utensil from her hands as he passed her and catching the obvious smirk on her full, pink lips when he did. He divested himself of his boots and left them by the door, slamming the large wooden monstrosity that would not look out of place in his own castle. He pushed the cloth instrument around the floor in a few half-hearted circles, eyeing her breasts the entire time and wilted again when she continued giving him The Look.
Damn, but she was a hard-hearted female! He was cleaning her pathetic cottage, the very least she could do was accommodate him. It wasn't like he'd abandon her afterward. He'd decided, from the moment she opened the door, that she would be his mistress and he would happily provide for a much better life than she was obviously used to. She needed look so grumpily at him! He did a proper job of mopping up after himself, mentally recalling having watched a few of the maids in his castle performing the task from time to time – not that he'd been paying much attention to the process, exactly. More the way their sinuous bodies moved as they did it, which made him think of other ways their bodies could move and – damn, there was that tent again! But at least her floor was clean, and she offered him a beatific smile as a reward; he suddenly had the urge to get down on his hands and knees and scrub the floor to see what she might offer then, but she was already putting the mop away and indicating that he should go sit by the fireplace while she turned to the small cookstove and pulled the lid off something that smelled quite delicious.
As he plopped himself down on what had to be the hardest stool in the entirety of the Northern Lands, he thought that perhaps it was a good thing the others had gotten lost they way they had. He was getting warm and dry, and would soon be fed and bedded by quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the entire galaxy. His night was definitely looking up. And, once again, so were his pants. What he really needed, he mused, was a nice tankard of ale to dull the throbbing ache between his thighs.
"Miss, have you got any ale?" he asked. She turned to face him, shaking her head, and he could swear that mocking half-smile had returned. "Wine?" he continued. She shook her head again. "Mead?" he tried again, but realized it was futile when her half-smile became a full one. She turned to fill him what appeared to be a plain wooden cup of – oh, in the name of Mirai, the Great Queen, was that water? She handed it to him silently and returned to stirring her stew.
"It smells nice," he admitted after a moment's silence. He'd never realized before how much he really depended on a woman to keep a conversation going. He usually just nodded in agreement with whatever they said while planning training exercises in his head. But this woman simply wasn't speaking. She smiled at the compliment and brought him a bowl, also made of wood, and indicated that he should serve himself. After sloshing quite a rather lot of the stew onto the floor, he joined her at the small table taking up the rough spoon – again, wooden – and eating. The soup was heavenly, he decided at once.
Euphrosyne was battling two very strong emotions at that moment, rage and amusement. The light of understanding was beginning to dawn this brawny man's eyes – she could see it lurking there, just on the outside of his consciousness: the fact that she hadn't said a word since he'd walked in. Barged in, she mentally corrected. And at the rate he was eating her food supplies, she'd have to go out foraging again the very next day. She really couldn't believe the gall of the man, but the trim on his uniform had given him away before she'd recognized the face. Though he hadn't bothered to introduce himself, she, as well as any future Senshi worth her salt – and all of them were – knew on sight each of the Earth Generals that served the King and the Prince. Especially his four closest advisors. Particularly the Head of His Majesty's Grand Companies, General Kunzite, famed throughout the Northern Lands for his skills on the battlefield and (it was rumored among the Venutian women that liked to tell of such things) his prowess in the bedroom. And she was very much mistaken if he didn't intend to make her his next conquest. She was forced to stifle a snort at that thought. As if a measly Earth General could tempt a Venutian – and one of the royal bloodline, at that!
He was eyeing her warily now, clearly sensing her amusement and understanding it was directed at him, but not comprehending the source. And how could he, she asked herself. It wasn't like she could actually tell him that she was Euphrosyne, Princess of Venus, in his lands illegally and against all treaties between their worlds – even if she could speak! It would mean war between the Earth and Venus. And the peace between the Earth and the other worlds was already so tenuous as it was. She could not, even when she was able to speak, admit to her royal birth and demand the treatment she was used to from this man. Though she almost wished to, simply to see his face across a battlefield when he realized exactly who it was he'd thought to presume was nothing more than a serving wench for him! Were she Martian, she might actually do it, but those of the House of Venus would never be so rash. A pity, really, when she thought about it. She smiled wider when she thought of the expression he would make if he knew who she truly was. Ah, he doesn't care for that. It really was too delicious to bait this man, known worlds over for being a strong, proud warrior, sitting at her tiny table in clothing that clung to him in an extremely provocative way with his silver hair forming something of waterfall down his shoulders – and onto her floor, she realized. Her smile fell. The floor she had spent two precious hours away from her knitting that very afternoon to scrub and would now be forced to scrub again. There was only one thing to do, really. She'd have to get him to strip down and dry off, though the two pathetic scraps of cloth she used for that purpose were going to be completely inadequate for the job.
She stood from the table and crossed to the chest where she pulled two thick quilts and returned to toss one at his feet and strung the other from a clothesline in front of the fireplace, carefully dividing the large room that was the entirety of the hut into two distinct chambers. She retreated behind the blanket, sitting on the bed in silence.
"Thank you," he called haltingly, as if the words were foreign to him. They probably were, she thought and laughed silently to herself. She heard the wet sucking noise as his clothes were pulled from his body and resisted the urge to peek around the blanket that stood between them, curious if the tales of his legendary body were accurate. Until the plopping sound told her that he'd dropped the dripping garments to her floor. She needed his man out of her house and soon, or she was never going to finish those damn shirts!
"You know, wench, if you're not going to speak to me, you might at least write down your name so I have something to call you," he shouted through the blanket. Above the top of it she could see the top of his head, his smooth brow and silky hair, and below it were the perfectly formed calves, ankles and feet that indicated the rest of his body would be just as well-shaped. She rolled her eyes at her own line of thinking as the separating blanket was pushed aside. When she'd given him the other, she'd really expected he'd wrap it around himself in a warming fashion, not sling it around his hips in that enticing fashion. She bit back a truly Venutian sigh at the sight of all that gorgeous male perfection in front of her – forbidden male perfection, she reminded her recalcitrant thoughts. The things she would like to do to this man, arrogant or not, in her bed…
Besides, the arrogance could be tamed out of him, she reasoned. Most men were easily humbled by a Venutian woman's rather adventurous sense of the sexual, and he would likely be no different. If only he weren't from Earth. She bit back another sigh.
"I said you might at least write down your name so I have something to call you, wench," he repeated. "Unless you prefer to be the nameless mistress of General Kunzite when we reach my castle tomorrow?"
Euphrosyne knew her mouth was hanging open inelegantly, something that her mother, her nannies and her governesses would have been absolutely appalled at, but she had no idea how to close it in the face of such unmitigated gall. He was truly lucky she was not a Martian, she reminded herself as she pointed to his wet clothing and then to the wash basin next to the cookstove. His eyes widened, but she held her ground, pointing again to the wet clothing and the basin. They narrowed, a cold, calculating look that made her understand, in a way that battlefield accounts never could, exactly how intimidating this man could be, but she was not the next successor to the throne of Venus and the title of Sailor Venus for nothing! And this piddling little Earth General would learn that, even if he never truly understood the lesson he had learned.
Kunzite stared at the delicate finger pointing at his wet clothing with something close to shock. This peasant girl was actually ordering him about in the lands that the first King Endymion had given to his family generations ago. She showed no shock, no recognition of his name, and certainly no deference to his position. He wondered, briefly, his eyes narrowing, if he would need to hog-tie the wench and toss her across his saddle in order to get her back to his castle with him. The idea was not entirely unpleasant, as it would give him a remarkably fine view of her backside as she lay in front of him. He could feel the quilt around his waist begin to tent, and smiled, imagining all the ways this girl would be taking care of that little problem within a few short minutes.
He went to the pile of wet clothing and carried it to the wash basin, scrubbing it as thoroughly as any washerwoman ever had, even as he realized the only experience he had with cleaning his own clothes was taking the prettier of the castle's washerwomen to his bed. He wrung out each item of clothing and hung it on the line she'd strung from one side of the room to the other, noting that she'd removed the dividing quilt and was folding it up. His eyes wandered past her lush figure to stare at the bed behind her. Though it was tiny, it would fit them both through the night if they slept very closely together. He liked that thought. So did the tent. He could tell, because it was getting bigger with each passing moment.
When he finished with his socks, he hung them up and looked in horror at what lay before the fireplace. He had vaguely noticed that she had put the quilt down at some point and begun to mop up after him, but while he had a very enticing view of her curves silhouetted by the fireplace, what she was doing was not at all enticing.
"You can't really expect me to sleep on the floor, woman!" he nearly shouted at her, taking in the folded quilt and the pillow that was clearly more cloth than feathers at this stage in its life. She smiled again, that mocking, half-smile, and climbed into the bed. Kunzite grumbled loudly, muttering curses he'd never uttered before a lady but as he didn't consider her to be one, he supposed it didn't matter. Fuck this, he decided, stomping across the room and attempting to get in the bed with her, but she kicked out from under the covers and hit him in the jaw with her foot! How in the world had she done that! He rubbed the spot tenderly, sure it was going to be bruised in the morning and cursing Nephrite, the golden-haired goddess in front of him and King Endymion while he was at it.
When he spun to face her, she was standing in front of the fireplace, brandishing – a knitting needle? – in one hand and a handful of what appeared to be nettles in the other. This was not happening, he decided. He walked calmly towards her until she'd back herself into a corner of the room and plucked the – oh, dear Mirai, it was a knitting needle – out of her hand. When he reached for the nettles, however, he received a very unpleasant surprise. After a mere moment or two of contact with them, the skin on his hand began to swell to twice its usual size and itch beyond his imagining. He fell to his knees, furious that he, the mighty Kunzite, had been brought so by something as puny as a handful of nettles.
Her eyes turned sympathetic, but she did not drop the offending things, merely carried them with her to her meager cupboard and took out a thick-looking paste that she smeared on his hand. Though it still stung, the itching went down almost immediately. Which was perhaps not exactly the best thing that could have happened, as she was bending down, opening the neckline of her gown enough that he could see completely down the front, the rounded curve of her breasts making the most impressive tent he could recall having in his life appear. Normally, this wouldn't bother him, but she noticed his indrawn breath, looked down and waved the handful of nettles in that general direction. It was also the shortest-lived tent in his memory. He sighed and watched as she climbed into bed, clutching the nettles to her magnificent chest, leaving him with no other options, really, than to climb upon the thinnest quilt in the entire Northern Lands, on the hardest floor with the most pathetic excuse for a pillow and attempt to sleep.
He must have managed it at some point, for a great knocking on the door woke him blindingly early the next morning, and he watched as the wench staggered to answer it, still clutching the nettles to her chest. From his position on the floor, he could not see the intruder, but he did recognize the voice the moment it spoke.
"I do beg your pardon, Miss, but have you, perchance, seen a rather foolish man, about this tall, with long silver hair?" The woman did not answer, merely opened the door wider and allowed Nephrite to enter. One look at his friend on the floor to the now blushing woman in front of him, and Nephrite's most sinister smile was in place. Kunzite let his head fall back on the pillow (if it could really be called such) and groaned.
"Head out of the gutter, Nephrite," he muttered, loud enough for the other man to hear. Nephrite merely laughed. Kunzite struggled to his feet and caught the edge of the quilt under his toe. He didn't even have to wait for the breeze to realize he had lost it, he knew the moment he saw her eyes widen. Though he did give her credit for not appearing appalled at the sight – more interested than anything else, he rather thought. Nephrite bounced his gaze between the two of them and his laughter verged on the hysterical.
"Let me ask you something, oh Fearless Leader," the brunette man asked around his chuckles. "Does she speak?"
"Has she spoken since you entered?" Kunzite found himself snapping in response, bending down to pick up the lost blanket and folding it into a square that would fit on the stool. He stalked across the hard floor (and just how hard it was, he knew exactly) and began pulling his clothes from the line. Though they were still slightly damp, the arrival of Nephrite meant that the rest of his company had gotten themselves found somehow and were now waiting for him to lead them unerringly from the woods. He would need to be dressed before the rest of his men saw him.
"Do you even know her name?" Nephrite continued, the laughter pouring into every syllable.
"Of course I do!" he turned, trousers unbuckled, shirt open, socks in hand. The indignant tone in his voice made Nephrite stop laughing for a moment, which was a blessing, but for some reason, the girl looked terrified, as if some horrible thing were about to happen. "Her name is – well, it's – her name is Goldie," he finally got out. Nephrite looked at his face, for a moment and then turned to 'Goldie', noting the look of disgust and mistrust on hers for a moment before nodding.
"Goldie, huh?" She nodded warily. "Well, General, I think we should take Goldie back to Kunzonia. A lovely country lass like herself could no doubt find many ways to fill her time while in a big city like that." Kunzite recognized that look. It wasn't The Look – after all, Nephrite was not a nanny – but it was a distinctly familiar one all the same. It meant that the stars had spoken to him and resistance was futile. Staring at his friends face, Kunzite sighed and nodded his head. It had been his intention, of course, to take Goldie with him to his home and set her up in the recently vacated quarters where his mistresses usually stayed, but he'd decided against that as he'd lain on her impossibly hard floor the previous night after she'd tried to kill him with nettles. Now he'd have to change those plans again. Nephrite wouldn't leave this damnable hut without her, but after her treatment of him the night before, there was no way he was giving her the best room in the castle save his own, of course.
"Absolutely," he said in reply, realizing the others had noted his exceptionally long silence. "It is the least I can do to repay you for the kindness you've shown me." He knew, by the shuttered look that came over her face, that she understood exactly what he meant. She shook her head in defiance and waved the nettles she still clutched in the general direction of his still-open pants. He backed away. He had been the Head of His Majesty's Royal Companies from a young age and could not recall anyone ever refusing his wishes. That this lowly little peasant girl was doing so openly, and in front of Nephrite, was inexcusable. He needed leverage. Warily eyeing the nettles, he was struck with a sudden inspiration.
"Nephrite, please see to it that one of the pages packs up the lady's knitting supplies. I don't believe she'll leave without it," he ordered, pleased to note the ashen tone her face had taken. I've got you now. He somehow knew, with the same startling clarity that he'd been able to figure out countless opponents on a battlefield, that she would not allow him to simply walk out of her life with those damned nettles in his possession. Nephrite left the hut immediately and he turned to face Goldie.
"You shall be given accommodations far superior to this ramshackle building you call home. You will not be forced to cook or clean for yourself, and you can devote as much time to those blasted things as you like as long as I never see them. In return for my kindness, I will not demand anything of you except your company at supper each night. Do you agree?"
Euphrosyne weighed her options carefully. At the rate she was going, between trying to keep her surroundings clean when the roof was literally falling in over her head and trying to keep enough food in the small hut so that she wouldn't starve, not to mention the incessant knitting, she had been overly optimistic in thinking she could complete her task in enough time to return to Venus before her mother did. If she accepted this offer, she would be able to devote every waking moment to knitting. Many of her current troubles would disappear and she might actually be able to complete her task on time. Besides, there was one thought that had been plaguing her sleep for the past three weeks: how was she to find a teleportation platform that would enable her and her brothers to return to Venus when she did complete her task? But Endymion's four highest generals, those he entrusted to keep order in the four corners of his kingdom had teleportation platforms in their castles. It was a piece of intel that Luna and Artemis had brought back from their last visit to the Earth several months before, and it would prove to be most useful to be near one when the time to leave arose.
She stared at the gorgeous specimen of the human male in front of her and nodded her agreement. A young boy of twelve or so entered the room and asked what he should take, and she directed him towards her baskets of nettles and the small bundle of clothing she'd managed to find in the cottage. Two very silent suppers later and she was sitting in a tower room in General Kunzite's castle, furnished in a manner befitting the princess she actually was and preparing for her third supper with the General, whose awkward attempts at conversation had thus far been a source of silent amusement to her. Two weeks passed in this fashion, and she understood the General's intentions clearly enough, but she had so far managed to resist allowing herself to be taken to his bed after supper each night. Her sustaining thought was that she had finished three of the six shirts and it would take her perhaps a week apiece for the smaller three, giving her just enough time to get home. She smiled to herself as she looked down at the beginnings of the fourth shirt, never realizing that the very witch who had cursed her poor brothers and herself was lurking in the shadows, watching as the General made a fool of himself over the silent girl and laughing to herself.
"Why isn't it working, Nephrite!" he demanded, almost five weeks after Goldie's arrival as he paced the throne room of his castle.
"I told you yesterday, the day before that and – let me think," Nephrite paused for a moment, lounging comfortably on the stairs leading up to the dais, "oh, yes, every day since we arrived here. It isn't working because you made a foolish vow and the stars are holding you to it. The only way you're getting between those thighs is by putting a ring on that finger."
"I am General Kunzite of His Majesty's Royal Companies!" Kunzite roared furiously (oh, alright – in sexual frustration). "I cannot simply marry some peasant girl from an enchanted forest who knits nettles day and night without cease!"
"Perhaps you should have been more careful, Kunzite." Nephrite was looking at his fingernails in boredom. "The stars have aligned against you. Not only does Goldie have every man in the kingdom fawning over her, including your sorry ass, but Beryl's come to pay you a visit."
"Don't remind me," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "She keeps asking about Goldie, too. If I marry the girl, you know what will happen, don't you?"
"Beryl will raise a fuss, of course," Nephrite added disinterestedly. "She'll go to Endymion and demand to know why she wasn't given a say in the matter, or worse, she'll wage war against you. Her kingdom is known to be full of magic and is the only kingdom left on the Earth that is not yet loyal to Endymion."
"Which is why I can't marry Goldie," Kunzite said, plopping himself into his throne.
"Marry her or give up the chance to feel her beneath you," Nephrite stated, standing quickly. Kunzite followed the movement with his eyes. "There is something you should know about Goldie, though." Kunzite's head snapped to attention.
"What?"
"There are rumors from the maidservants that attend to her dressing and bathing," Nephrite began, and the mental image overwhelmed Kunzite so badly that he nearly lost track of the conversation. "They claim that she carries the royal mark of Venus on the underside of her left sitting cheek. The birthmark of the one next in line for the throne. And the power of the Senshi."
Kunzite stared at him for a moment. "Are you implying that my future bride is a whore of Venus!" he demanded in a loud roar that had very little to do with sexual frustration.
"No, I'm not implying that Goldie is Venutian. But your maids are. And if Beryl catches wind of it, it'll make things harder for you," Nephrite commented as he strolled towards the door, ignoring the other man's rage. "I'd marry her tonight and get a look at it yourself."
The maids were whispering again. She knew it would happen sooner or later, but she was so pleased to be finally finished with the damned shirts that she couldn't find it in herself to care. Her mother was due to return in two days' time, which left her just this one final night in Kunzite's lands. This one night to give into his increasingly pathetic demands and bed him to put some sense of humility into the overly proud, overweeningly arrogant man before she and her brothers were free of the Earth. She'd learned much by not being able to speak. By piecing together the conversations she'd heard, the war with the Moon would begin at any time, the Earthlings simply wanted a good enough reason to break all treaties. And she'd seen that witch, Beryl, from a distance, stirring up trouble. It would not be long at all before she'd be facing him on the battlefield, and she wanted, more than ever, to see his face as he realized who he'd been trying to seduce.
And she just wanted him, plain and simple. She noticed the dress they'd put her in was quite lovely, a far sight lovelier than anything she'd been given to wear since her arrival and wondered at it, but not for long, for he was knocking at the door and there was no time to wonder. He led her into the Great Hall and she noticed in some surprise the fine linen and china set upon all the tables, not just the high board. And he was refusing to meet her eyes. He was up to something and she was suddenly wishing she'd brought the last handful of nettles with her so that she could smash them into his face until he told her what in the name of Selene was going on.
She sat in her usual position at his left hand, across from Nephrite, who was wearing an infuriatingly smug smirk on his usually handsome features. She would very much love to introduce him to her fellow Senshi-in-Training. Before the meal was served, Kunzite stood before the assembled party and all attention in the room went to him.
"About a month ago," he began, "I made a promise to marry the first woman I met who fulfilled certain – er – conversational requirements. Tonight I have asked all of you to join us as we come together in matrimony. Before we begin our supper, I'd like you all to bear witness to my marriage with Goldie." The room erupted in raucous cheers, and she stared at him in shock. Her look clearly said 'conversational requirements'…
Kunzite realized he'd gone about it all backwards from the moment he saw Goldie's face. He probably should have asked her if she wanted to marry him first, he supposed. But she'd say yes, of course, and why waste the time? Only she didn't look like she was about to say yes. She looked like she was about to kick him and then pull nettles from her bodice and maim him with them. He thought this was what she'd wanted. His ankles were suddenly knocked from beneath him and he fell into his chair, facing down the bluest eyes he'd ever seen shooting dangerously angry sparks at him.
"Ah, Goldie, don't be so upset, please," he started, "a few hours before we met, I'd told Nephrite (who, incidentally had better stop laughing or I swear I'll have him beheaded before supper) that I'd marry the first woman who didn't chatter my head off. It's a matter of keeping my word."
Her look was one he recognized, having seen it quite often in recent weeks. Not Good Enough, it said. Though this one appeared to say Not Anywhere Near Good Enough.
"I enjoy your company," he said haltingly. "You're lovely and accomplished, even if you have that odd fixation with the nettles, and I expect we'll have a tolerable time of marriage?"
No.
"The servants are starting to talk and I have to do something or Beryl will bring Endymion down on my head?"
Oh, that on was a little harder. It was either Are You Kidding Me? Or Go To Hell. Perhaps a combination of the two. He sighed, realizing he was going to have to try something more real if he wanted her to agree.
"I'm nuts about you, Goldie, and I have been since you opened the door and let me into that awful hut you were living in and I want to spend the rest of eternity having you near me," he admitted. A smile crept across her face. "So you agree then?" She shook her head sadly. It hurt his pride to do it, but he summoned up the willpower and whispered to her, "Goldie, I love you. Will you marry me, please?" She smiled wider and nodded slowly. He leapt for the priest, Helios, before she could change her mind, and in moments they were married, though he couldn't help but wonder why Helios stumbled over Goldie's name the way he had, nor why he'd waited overlong for someone to protest to the match.
He took his Goldie, finally his Goldie, up to their new quarters, prepared to introduce her to the ways of lovemaking and found her to be naturally talented at it, leaving no energy in his body for any kind of tent in the sheets. When he awoke in the morning, she was gone, but he didn't worry overmuch. He knew that she'd often gone out early to feed the swans that had followed her from her hut to the castle and had taken up residence in the large pond behind the greenhouse.
As he lay in the dawning sunlight, he smiled at his own good fortune, before he remembered what Nephrite had said about the maids' comments as well as his own intentions to settle the matter completely himself by examining both her cheeks at least once over the course of the night. With that haunting memory came another – the memory of his wife's eagerness in the bedroom and the absolute exhaustion she'd brought him to, as though she'd reveled in it, awakening long-forgotten school days learning about the other planets that surrounded them. He jumped from his bed – their bed, now – and dressed hurriedly, determined to ask her from whence she came, and made it as far as the front door of the castle when he was stopped by Beryl.
"General Kunzite, this message has just come from Queen Selenity. It seems that Queen Venus has misplaced her children and believes that we have kidnapped them. She is demanding their immediate return or she assures us that Venus will consider the action a breach of treaty and wage war against the Earth. Queen Selenity wishes to add that if it comes to that, the Moon, as well as the rest of the planets, will follow suit." Her smile grew as she said this, and he wondered at it for a moment as he scanned the missive she carried. Blonde with blue eyes, all the children were listed as having the same traits. They'd disappeared almost eight weeks ago, according to the report, and no effort to track them had proved successful, but intelligence had come just two days before stating that Kunzite of the Northern Lands was holding her daughter and six sons captive with sorcery and would not release them. He roared in pain and betrayal as he rushed through the doors, dropping the letter on the ground at his feet and heading towards the pond, his sword drawn and ready for her – his lying witch of a wife.
He found her by the pond, laughing with six younger boys, her brothers, he presumed. "Whore of Venus!" he shouted, rushing her with his sword as she turned to face him.
"Quickly, boys," she shouted. "You know where to go. Make sure that you all get there safely! I'll handle this!"
"I am no whore, sir," she said in a voice as cold as steel. He stopped in his tracks, unable to believe that his sweetly smiling wife of the night before was capable of such speech. "I am of Venus, however. A witch enchanted my brothers and me, and I was unable to tell you so. Had I been, I still would not have done so, for our very presence on this world breaks many treaties. I wished to avoid war."
"What is your name?" he demanded harshly, his anger overpowering him.
"Euphrosyne," she answered immediately, her voice softer. "Princess of Venus and heiress to the throne."
"I want you out of my kingdom, wife," he growled, dropping his sword to the ground so that he didn't run her through. "Return to your mother before they come to claim you. But know this: when this war erupts, as it is now going to, the blame will fall on your lying, deceitful head, and I hope that you will remember that for as many lifetimes as you might be cursed to have. And at every one, wherever you go, Princess of Venus, there I shall be, to bring about your destruction."
He could still remember her face, his own bumbling attempts at seduction, their hasty marriage and their incredible wedding night. It lay before him, clear as the days in which they had happened, over a thousand years before in another lifetime, as he lay dying. She was gone, had vanished almost from the moment of his death, but he still clearly heard her whisper in his ear, "This time it is I who have brought about your destruction, my husband."
Facing her in the cold marble and crystal halls of this utopia, he wondered if he could ever be forgiven. He had regretted her banishment from the moment she left his sight nearly two thousand years before. Older, wiser and harder, he had faced her across a battlefield three years later as she and her fellow Senshi attempted to stop the horrendous assault on the Moon. He had delighted in killing her then, even as his heart had broken over it. It was too late then to repent that he'd believed the lies Beryl had told him, to realize that Beryl had the most to gain by luring them all down to the Earth and cursing them, and him, into the tableau that had played out that long ago sunrise.
Euphrosyne. Minako. Sailor Venus. Her name did not matter. His wife stood before him, a cold, calculating look that had not been on her face in the eight weeks he had spent with centuries ago. Her beauty was still legendary, and her tale had become immortalized by retellings over the millennia that had passed, but this cold-hearted woman in front of him was not the same Venus he had known and loved in that brief time. She was not the woman he had killed thousands of people to get over. That Venus would never have cried upon seeing him, tears of rage and frustration and hatred, he knew, for what they had once shared.
"What do you want?" she demanded and he suddenly realized that he missed her silence.
"My wife," he said simply, crossing the distance between them and pulling her hard against him. "What I've always wanted, all these years."
Passionate, oh, yes, she was that. Sensual, seductive and tempting at once – an overwhelming combination. But this Venus was also virginal. And he realized he had no idea how to go about this, even as the tent she'd caused with her very presence got larger, even though she smelled slightly of a half-remembered bitterness that he could swear was the scent of nettles and he wanted to back away and hold her tighter and – oh, hell! He decided.
He picked up his wife and carried her off to his bedroom, finally forgoing the idea that he would have a plan for this moment just letting it happen. He firmly ignored Nephrite in the hallway, laughing hysterically at the sight of the two of them. When he reached the door, she whispered, "We're here."
"So we are," he agreed, opening the door. "Thank the stars."
