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Buttercup had been the most beautiful woman in the world since she was eighteen. She was no stranger to admiration.But just because her beauty was the kind to cause universal awe (and had even caused one or two mild heart attacks), it didn’t mean that she didn’t still find the attention flattering. True, the time period when she thought Westley was dead had been a temporary pause. It’s hard to fully enjoy even the most deserved adulation when your heart is a remote, cold pile of ashes that used to be dreams. She’d had a whole kingdom at her feet and all she’d been able to think was Westley, Westley, Westley.Now, however, she was restored to true love’s bliss, and although the island of their exile was lamentably low on beauty supplies and properly resplendent clothes (such luxuries being properly found in Paris, which is not a coastal city frequently supplied by ships vulnerable to piracy), Buttercup was still the most beautiful woman in the world. This we must attribute to the radiance of true love, for I regret to inform you that Buttercup’s face was sometimes dirty, and her hair was no longer as shimmering as it had once been. But Westley saw no such imperfections; or if he saw them, he didn’t say a word. Theirs was a marriage of true love, and a happily ever after that could not be denied.(“Westley,” Buttercup said one day, “are we actually married?”Westley chose his words carefully. “True love such as ours may come once in a thousand years. Marriage is almost too prosaic for us.”“It’s only that I never divorced Humperdinck,” Buttercup said. “Well, we could go back to Florin and file the official papers. But it would be a long trip.”“Never mind,” Buttercup said. She preferred the quiet life to long travel. And after all, if she was still officially married to Humperdinck, that meant she was still officially the Queen of Florin. Buttercup rather liked being a Queen. If it didn’t mean having to deal with Humperdinck.)Westley wasn’t the only person to admire Buttercup. Inigo and Fezzik, who were madly in love themselves (what? that wasn’t clear enough in the abridgement? perhaps it shouldn’t have cut out Inigo’s thirteen-page love poems – although to be fair Inigo was vastly better at swordplay than he was at poetry) periodically tore their eyes from their besotted contemplation of each other and let them rest appreciatively on Buttercup. And so life on the island hummed along quite harmoniously for six months or so. Both couples were deeply in love, and both had their own private spots on the island that the other couple knew to stay away from. (This was before the invention of privacy, but Fezzik in particular was shy.) Buttercup was universally admired by her lover (which might be expected), by her friends (which, to be entirely honest, might also be expected), and by herself (whenever she found a clear puddle to admire herself in). Then one day it changed.Inigo and Westley were sparring, as they often did. There are only so many amenities and amusements on a deserted island, even when you have friends with you and not just a volleyball named Wilson. (This was before volleyballs in any event.) Inigo and Westley had learned early on that sparring was not only a way to keep in shape and keep their skills sharp, but a valuable form of entertainment for both themselves and their lovers. Buttercup and Fezzik sometimes bet on the result or on particular elements of the fight (‘who will use Bonetti’s Defense first?’), and sometimes made up rhymes or ballads about their brave swordsmen. It was all very rollicking and gay.On this particular day Buttercup had bet Fezzik that Inigo would perform a particularly difficult pirouetting move that he had invented himself in a moment of inspiration brought on by a particularly inspirational and acrobatic private swordplay with Fezzik the week before. (This was after the invention of innuendo.) When Inigo duly performed it, and disarmed Westley with a glittering flourish, Buttercup not only clapped, she went to him and kissed him in triumphant high spirits.A kiss can be many things. Perhaps Buttercup had intended this kiss as the tribute of a patroness to a swordsman. But both she and Inigo had a lot of practice in this particular field of study, and before she knew it she was kissing him for real, heedless of the sword in his hand or the sweat on his brow.“I think our true loves are running off together,” Westley said to Fezzik, brushing the dust off his knees. He didn’t sound too worried. Westley wasn’t a worrier. And he knew that kisses notwithstanding, Buttercup and he were destined to be together until death did them part. Until Humperdinck found their island, or Miracle Max’s Miracle Pill wore off, or… But Westley believed in not borrowing tomorrow’s worry today. (This was after clichés. Just.)“I think it’s not really good sailing weather,” Fezzik said, which it wasn’t, although the more pertinent objection was that they didn’t have a boat and there was no way Buttercup would be able to swim to the mainland. Buttercup was many wonderful things, but not a particularly strong swimmer. We all have our faults.“Well,” Westley said, “we could take a break from sparring and find another form of entertainment.”Fezzik, being shy, did not immediately take his meaning. Then he did, and blushed. “Fezzik is very good at swordplay,” Inigo said proudly, having emerged from being kissed. For someone who had just been kissed by the most beautiful woman in the world, he looked relatively little affected, being only slightly rumpled and rosy. Buttercup eyed Fezzik doubtfully. “I thought he preferred to fight with his hands.”“Oh,” Inigo said, catching Westley’s eye and grinning, “he can do wonderful things with his hands too.”Westley rolled his eyes and explained to Buttercup.“Oh,” she said, resting her head on Inigo’s shoulder.As it turned out, Buttercup may have been Queen of Florin in absentia, but she was Queen of Paradise Island in perpetuity. And isn’t it the rightful due of a Queen to be universally admired?
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