Buttercup rubbed her wrists, stopped, massaged her ankles. She took a final look at the Sicilian. “To think,” she murmured, “all that time it was your cup that was poisoned.”
“They were both poisoned,” said the man in black. “I’ve spent the past two years building up immunity to iocane powder.”
Buttercup looked up at him. He was terrifying to her, masked and hooded and dangerous; his voice was strained, rough. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I am no one to be trifled with,” replied the man in black. “That is all you ever need to know.” And with that he yanked her upright. “You’ve had your moment.” Again he pulled her after him, and this time she could do nothing but follow.
They moved along the mountain path. The moonlight was very bright, and there were rocks everywhere, and to Buttercup it all looked dead and yellow, like the moon. She had just spent several hours with three men who were openly planning to kill her. So why, she wondered, was she more frightened now than then? Who was the horrid hooded figure to strike fear in her so? What could be worse than dying? “I will pay you a great deal of money to release me,” she managed to say.
The man in black glanced at her. “You are rich, then?”
“I will be,” Buttercup said. “Whatever you want for ransom, I promise I’ll get it for you if you’ll let me go.”
The man in black just laughed.
“I was not speaking in jest.”
“You promise? You? I should release you on your promise? What is that worth? The vow of a woman? Oh, that is very funny, Highness. Spoken in jest or not.” They proceeded along the mountain path to an open space. The man in black stopped then. There were a million stars fighting for prominence and for a moment he seemed to be intent on nothing less than studying them all, as Buttercup watched his eyes flick from constellation to constellation behind his mask.
Then, with no warning, he spun off the path, heading into wild terrain, pulling her behind him.
She stumbled; he pulled her to her feet; again she fell; again he righted her.
“I cannot move this quickly.”
“You can! And you will! Or you will suffer greatly. Do you think I could make you suffer greatly?”
Buttercup nodded.
“Then run!” cried the man in black, and he broke into a run himself, flying across rocks in the moonlight, pulling the Princess behind him.
She did her best to keep up. She was frightened as to what he would do to her, so she dared not fall again.
After five minutes, the man in black stopped dead. “Catch your breath,” he commanded.
Buttercup nodded, gasped in air, tried to quiet her heart. But then they were off again, with no warning, dashing across the mountainous terrain, heading…
“Where… do you take me?” Buttercup gasped, when he again gave her a chance to rest.
“Surely even someone as arrogant as you cannot expect me to give an answer.”
“It does not matter if you tell or not. He will find you.”
“‘He,’ Highness?”
“Prince Humperdinck. There is no greater hunter. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day; he can find you.”
“You have confidence that your dearest love will save you, do you?”
“I never said he was my dearest love, and yes, he will save me; that I know.”
“You admit you do not love your husband-to-be? Fancy. An honest woman. You’re a rare specimen, Highness.”
“The Prince and I have never from the beginning lied to each other. He knows I do not love him.”
“Are not capable of love is what you mean.”
