King's Game
Summary: Five times Haki Allurion asked His Majesty the King of Clarines a question, and one time Izana Wistalia answered. OneShot- Haki, Izana.
Warning: "Five times" setup, going woah-one-hell-of-AU-how-did-this-happen from part 5 on. Spoilers for the story until now, but if you know that they are married you should be safe.
Set: story-unrelated.
Disclaimer: Standards apply.
For all those who asked for more on this particular pairing. (One person in particular.)
1.
In Lyrias, the people say, the winters are long and the nights are longer.
The inhabitants of the border lands north of Wistalia know at least sixteen different words for snow, and twenty-three synonyms for darkness. Haki Allurion, at the age of nine, remembers all of them.
"Brother, brother, look! The snow has come!"
Makiri Allurion, two years older than her, groans into his pillow.
"Haki…"
Usually, he humors her. It has, after all, been just the two of them since their mother died three years ago, and while he does his best, their father is busy almost all the time. It is Haki and Makiri, the inseparable siblings, as close as twins despite their age difference, who wander the castle's many rooms, who play hide-and-seek in the storage cellars, who tell each other stories in front of the fire. Haki and Makiri, who greet winter's first snow together.
Haki's brother attempts to get up and collapses back into his pillows with another soft moan.
She is at his side, immediately. "Makiri?"
"I'm fine, kitty," he says, and his last words are drowned out by a rasping cough. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to go outside with you today."
"Are you alright? Do you want to drink something? Should I call Ledia?"
Makiri's face is grey with exhaustion.
"No, thank you. I just have to sleep, and I'll be right as rain again soon."
Haki shuffles through the objects on his night stand. "Maybe I could take your temperature? Do you feel worse than yesterday? Have you drunk enough?"
He smiles at her, tiredly, catching her wrist and stilling her hand. "I'm fine, really. Haki. Hey, kitty. Don't cry."
She blinks away the tears, because it is her brother. Makiri says she is strong, so she will be. "I'll build a wish-angel for you. I'll wish you'll be healthy again as fast as possible!"
"Do that." He smiles, and despite the exhaustion in his eyes it is her beloved brother looking at her. "Put on your coat and scarf, do you hear me? I wouldn't want for you to fall ill, as well. Promise me to take care of yourself."
"I promise. I will bring you a snow angel, brother!"
The air outside is crystal-clear and icy.
The world changes with the snow. Haki knows the outline of the mountains, the steep roofs and tent-like structures of their city. The way the wooden bridge sounds under her feet as she crosses it, leaving the stronghold behind. The streets are not empty. It is early, and the snow continues to fall in steady flakes, but there are people out already. Even they, however, used to winter as they are, stop to watch the snow fall. Their laughter is clear, open. There is a magic to the snow Haki can feel, deep, deep down in her bones. There is a magic to this city.
Home, Haki thinks.
Home, because her father and Makiri and Ledia are there, because her mother loved the walled city with its Grand Library and its Houses of Healing and Houses of Teaching. Because the snow changes it and yet it stays the same. This is Haki's home, and she never wants to live anywhere else.
Contrary to the streets and the market, the plaza in front of the Houses of Healing is almost empty. Lessons begin later in winter, Haki knows. Her mother studied here. There is a girl walking towards the entrance briskly, her blond ponytail swaying. She is pretty, in a cool, detached way, Haki thinks, and watches as a tall man steps outside. He has been waiting for her, she decides. And it is quite possible he has, because when he sees her his face changes. The woman walks past him briskly and he follows, but there is no resentment in the way they lean towards each other just ever so slightly as they disappear out of sight. There is an old man crossing the pavement, his cane carefully seeking for balance. Two workers on the other side are unloading a cart of what looks like writing equipment. And a boy is standing in the shadow of the Great Library, just below the balustrade. Haki almost runs into him, because she is greeting the old lady beggar that always sits in this nook of the building, her hands buried in her coat against the cold.
The boy's blond hair looks like silver in the color-bleached morning light. He must be freezing, because he is not wearing a coat. His shoulders are slumped. He seems tired to her, like he is carrying an unseen weight on his shoulders. His gaze is fixed on the sky with a quizzical look on his face, and then he is looking at her. Suddenly, all his weariness is gone.
"I apologize," she says, still struggling for balance. He reaches out to steady her, his hand cold even through her gloves. Haki frowns, looking down on it.
"Are you not cold? Here."
She pulls off her scarf and drops it around his neck. He is maybe two, three years older than her, she thinks, perhaps like Makiri? There's something in his eyes that makes her think that talking to him isn't a good idea, except that it is.
"The rain drops are frozen," he says, disregarding her question, his eyes not once moving to the blue-and-green scarf she just gave him. "Interesting."
"But you must surely know snow!"
Her incredulous statement finally makes him look at her. His eyes are as blue as the marbles her father had given Haki for her seventh birthday.
"Have you ever seen the ocean?", he asks.
Haki stops short. "No." She thinks, quickly. "Mama told me it is wide and never-ending, and that it mirrors the sky. That's why it's blue. I'd like to see it, some day."
The boy looks at her as if she is as much a puzzle to him as the falling snow is, and then, a smile appears on his face.
"You should travel to Wistalia one day, then."
That moment, a group of people exits the Great Library, among them the blonde woman with the ponytail and the dark-haired man. They are both following a blonde, tall Lady in a fine pelt. A great number of other people clusters after them.
"Are you ready to leave, Izana?" The blonde woman asks but smiles at Haki, and the boy turns towards her and nods. "Good."
She smiles at Haki as she departs, followed by the throng of attendants, and the boy leaves with her without a glance back. The Queen, Haki will later think, for it must have been the Queen of Clarines, visiting Lyrias for a day or two. And still, when she looks back to that day, she does not remember Queen Haruto's smile.
What Haki remembers are the sea-blue eyes of the boy, and the way he eyed the sky like it was an equation to be solved.
2.
"Are you sure, my daughter?"
"Yes, Father. I am."
"Haki…"
She lifts her hand, smiles at her family. Her father: old, grey, but strong, his shoulders unbent under the weight of countless years and unlightened responsibility. Although he was so busy, he always found time for them in the past, and still today. And her brother: her wonderful, amazing elder brother, the one who teased her and taught her and protected her, and who perhaps knows her better than she knows herself.
"It is fine, Makiri. Really. I want this."
Once upon a time, there was a little girl in a warm, large palace in a land of snow and ice, with great a many rooms filled with books and adventures and secrets. The girl's mother died early, taking her unborn second daughter with her, and her father was always busy with his work. But he would find time for her in the evening, and her brother would always play with her. The girl was loved, cherished and well-educated, and she grew up to be an intelligent, pretty young woman living in a warm, large palace in a land of snow and ice.
But the peace of the kingdom was fragile.
The Bergatt House and the Royal House of Clarines always had been wary of each other, and the Bergatt family had long wished to see itself established as the ruling dynasty of the country and were gaining power by force and by deceit. The Allurion House of Lyrias had always been allied with the Wistalia family, but the old bond was slowly fading. The Allurion had neither much influence nor much gold and land.
But they had a daughter, and the Royal Family of Clarines had two sons.
"Your Highness."
Izana of Wistalia is tall, and many women probably consider him handsome. His blond hair seems almost white in the blinding sunlight falling through the high windows. His eyes still are blue-as-blue.
Haki wonders whether the sea really is of the same color.
"Lady Haki."
He kisses the air over her wrist. Smooth, practiced. His voice is clear and easy, as well, his face open and honest, and he does not fool her for one second: this is a man who hides in plain view, who fights his battles under the cover of secrecy until he emerges victorious. A man whose expression tells everything to the extent that it tells nothing, and everyone falls for it. Except for her. It is not, she thinks, a bad thing. Merely… disconcerting. Lord Allurion and her brother are the complete opposite of him, and she loves them for it. She does not know what to think of the Crown Prince.
"I trust your trip here went well, Your Highness."
He surely has forgotten their first meeting, has forgotten the girl that ran him over on the stairs to Lyrias' Great Library.
"It was fine, thank you. The streets were not blocked by snow anymore."
"The sun season is returning. There will be no storms anymore, I think."
The hallways are empty. So predictable, she thinks, and is thankful for Makiri's presence behind them. Her brother is glowering silently, but he knows her too well to interfere.
"You have a beautiful home, Mylady."
"Thank you. I heard Wistalia is beautiful, as well."
"I admire your dedication to your family, Lady Haki."
She stops, abruptly, in the middle of the sun-lit hallway. The air is still cold.
"I do not understand."
He returns her gaze, his face carefully humorous and otherwise empty. "You do, Mylady, I have no doubt. You and I both know exactly what I am talking about. Your family's motto seems to be very fitting."
Loyalty is our strength.
So this is the way it is going to be, she thinks. No subterfuge, no deception. It suits her just fine. It was just – she had expected him to know, of course, and to act accordingly. She just had not expected him to be so open about it.
"Is this why you chose me, Your Highness?"
He smiles again. To her, it seems like the blade of a sword flashing in the sunlight.
"So you will see the sea at last, Mylady."
3.
There are candles on the window sill.
Candles, softly-glowing, flickering light, their sweet scent filling the air. Detachedly, Haki wonders who chose the scent. Is it one the King favors? And if so, how do the servants know?
Months at the Royal Palace, and there is more she knows about her personal maid than she knows about her husband. Izana Wistalia, King of Clarines, is anything but forthcoming regarding personal information. The most she knows about him is that he is an intelligent man (not honest, perhaps, and not really warm, but perhaps kind), and that nothing can stop once he has set his mind to something.
The candle's glow is warm, but Haki finds she is shivering. The thin satin gown she is wearing does little to warm her, so she does the only rational thing: she makes her way over to the large, elaborately decorated bed at the far end of the room, folds down the heavy quilt covering it and slips under the blankets.
Too late, she realizes she should have waited. What if her husband-of-few-hours prefers to lay on one side specifically? The head butler would have known, she thinks, morosely. I should have asked him. She can feel her cheeks blush in embarrassment. Or not. The cool satin of the expensive bedsheets is not exactly warm, either. Haki lies still, stretched out like on a physician's couch, her hands folded over her stomach, watches the flickering light of the candles and listens to her heartbeat pick up speed. The scent fills the room, vanilla, she thinks, it is pleasant and would have been calming on any other day.
What do you do as a newly-wedded bride? Wait for your husband to come to you? Go to him? Is there a rule for such a situation?
Weren't they expected to lie together on their wedding night?
Is he not planning on joining her? Not today, or not ever? Has he intended this from the beginning, just wanting to marry her for her name and the political signal it carried?
Of course, she reminds herself. This is hardly a love match.
So if her husband decides not to bed her, then that is his choice. She should be glad, should she not? Ledia, her old nursemaid, had taught her what to expect of men. Her accounts had been hardly appropriate for a girl of her status, and yet: how else was she to learn of it? How else was she to prepare?
In the flickering darkness, intoxicated by the scent of vanilla, slowly warming under the sheets and yet still trembling, Haki realizes that whatever she has learned will not help her now.
The thought is… daunting.
When the door opens quietly, her heart slams against her rib cage so painfully she almost gasps. Swallowing the sound, she takes a deep, slow breath and sits up, meeting her husband's gaze straightforward.
"Mylord."
"There is no need to call me that in the privacy of our chambers, Haki."
She inclines her head in consent, secretly surprised that she manages to keep her countenance. Her heart is beating so fast it feels like she cannot breathe anymore.
Izana is wearing comfortable trousers and a soft, white shirt, slightly wrinkled, and his hair spills down onto his shoulders in a silvery blur. His blue eyes regard her, unflinchingly, curiosity bright and unveiling everything else.
(On Haki's third week in the Royal Palace she had listened to a few noblewomen gossip, whispering over how difficult it was to discern the Crown Prince's thoughts from his face. She seriously considered asking them for clarification: to Haki, everything Izana thought was right there, in his face, and she could not fathom how other people might not be able to read his expression.)
Her eyes follow him through the room as he carefully extinguishes all candles but one. Slowly, the bedroom is plunged into darkness, the soft note of vanilla mixing with the familiar scent of burned wax. Giving in and closing her eyes, Haki holds her breath while she listens to his steps approach the bed. She feels the mattress dip under his weight. A rustling of the sheets, movement, and her heart-
He settles his position, and then there is silence again.
It does nothing to relieve her anxiety.
Her eyes fly open again at the sudden absence of movement. Izana is beside her, on his back, the blankets drawn up to his chest. His eyes are closed. She hovers, too nervous to move, too tense to close her eyes. What is this?! Why would he take the pains to sleep in the same room as her when he surely has his own, private chamber, and then not bed her? Is he waiting for her to take the first step? What, in the name of everything that is Holy, is he expecting of her?
"Are you going to bed me?"
It is out before she can check herself. Haki flushes in mortification, her hands covering her lips too late. Did she really just-
Izana laughs.
It is a surprisingly heartfelt chuckle that turns into explosive laughter after a few heartbeats, not loud, but filled with mirth. It is like nothing she has ever heard from him, and like nothing she expected to ever hear from him. A sarcastic smirk, yes. A small smile of amusement. But laughter like this?
It makes her feel even more embarrassed at the same time as it makes her want to laugh, as well.
You like him, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. Or: You could get to like him.
"Well?" She demands, almost angrily.
Izana's laughter dies. The sheets rustle. Haki experiences a sudden moment of dizzying sensation as he hovers over her directly, so close she can see the thin line of his eyelashes. His blue eyes are alight with humor. She waits, not breathing, for what feels like eternity. But he just looks at her, looks and looks, and, when the dizziness becomes almost unbearable, he draws away again. The sheets rustle and he turns away from her, the line of his shoulders a sharp contrast against the flickering light of the last candle.
"Good Night, Haki. Sleep well."
She is not sure she will ever recover enough to calm her wildly-beating heart, much less sleep.
4.
There is no opportunity to wear pretty dresses outside in Lyrias.
Pretty, in Haki's world, always came second to warm. There is no need for something as pointless as pretty if one catches a cold and falls ill; a warm, simple dress and coat hold all the importance when the wind is freezing cold and the sky looks like snow.
It is different in Wistalia, and Haki enjoys it. She never had dresses like these before. Colorful, light as butterfly's wings. There are many of them, fashioned from elaborate materials and adorned with lace trimmings and expensive jewels and leaf gold applications. Haki likes the simpler ones, only few ribbons, perhaps some intricate designs. She likes the feel of them against her skin, the way they fall down from her waist, the way they swish around her legs. Her favorite one is one in soft green-and-blue shadows, butterfly sleeves and a meek but subtle neckline, almost too simple for the court. She wears it when she visits the library which she often frequents, or on her walks through the gardens.
(Nothing will ever soften the silent grief in her heart: this is not home. But it makes it easier to bear, marginally.)
Aside from dresses, flowers are one of the things that the capital of Clarines offers aplenty that Lyrias has not, or only short and fleeting, and the Palace gardens and greenhouses are splendid. Wherever she goes, her newly-appointed aide accompanies her. She still has to get used to Sir Ren's silent, unobtrusive presence. But, after a few weeks, she is slowly getting to know him.
Now, when he excuses himself politely and walks away to stand guard from a subtle distance, she knows who is approaching.
"Haki."
She has stopped bowing to her king the moment he became her husband. Since he never objected, she supposes he does not mind. It would be silly, really.
"Your Majesty. The gardens are beautiful today."
King Izana of Clarines seats himself next to her on the narrow bench. The quick smile he flashes her is familiar by now. Haki returns it.
"I found myself with some free time at hand," she says, absently letting her fingers ghost over the soft petals of the lilac bush next to her. The violet, racemose clusters of flowers weight almost nothing in her hand.
"It seems with the union between the two of us established, the alliance between Lyrias and Wistalia has been strengthened considerably."
Two years since their wedding, and sometimes Haki still finds it hard to believe it actually happened. Sometimes, it is like this: Izana telling her about his thoughts, and her merely listening, allowing him a sounding board for his strategies. How it happened that he has begun to come to her she cannot say. It is not important.
"The Bergatt House has been quiet for a long time now. It worries me. Has your father heard anything about their plans?"
"You know what my father knows," Haki tells him. "You know I do not have secrets."
"You mean," he corrects her, "that you do not keep secrets which concern our families, and our country."
Haki smiles, slightly. They are both accomplished in this game, and she has found it amusing to spar with him like that.
"A woman needs to keep some of her secrets, Mylord. Otherwise her husband might lose his interest in her."
"Some women have more secrets than others."
"I always thought of myself as an open book when it comes to you."
Izana smiles – a short flash of true humor that quickly morphs into a frown. "Two members of the Bergatt family seem to have become recruits in the garrison of Celeg. I wonder what they are planning."
"I am sure you have ways of finding out."
"Of course. But this is the Bergatt House. Provoking the head of the family on the simple grounds of suspecting something would put us on disadvantage permanently. I need someone at the garrison who is able to gather information and has high enough a status to do so undisturbed."
His frown disappears as his ever-planning mind not only solves his problem but manages to give him an advantage, once again.
"I will send Zen," he says, as if to himself. "He's just back from Wilant, having visited our Royal Mother. He surely wants to stop by Lyrias, but I need him in Celeg."
"Two years and a distance worth two days of travel seem to have done little to separate him and his princess."
"Apparently."
"One would think you would tire of your games eventually."
Izana smiles. "How could I? It is so much fun to watch him struggle. I won't ever get the chance to keep them apart like that so easily."
Some people, Haki knows, think that Izana is a scheming, cold man. That he calculates everything and every risk, and then does anything to achieve his goal. That there is nothing that can stand in the way of his quest for power: not even his little brother.
But Haki also knows her husband.
So she smiles as she gazes over the rows and rows of beautiful flowers, one more colorful as the other.
"You love your brother very much, do you not?"
He is silent, so long she thinks he will just get up and leave again, the same way he has done so often in the past. But then, his silent voice cuts through the afternoon air.
"Beautiful indeed."
And Haki realizes, with a dizzying rush of something, that he is not looking at the gardens anymore. The sensation is not new: she has felt it here and there, in parts, in bits and pieces, over the past two years. Every now and then, when she looks at Izana and he smiles at her, his small, private, honest smile, or when his fingers accidentally brush hers, or when she watches him lost in his work. It is not new, but she never placed it correctly. Now, suddenly, everything jumps into focus, is shown in harsh, blinding light, in every tiny detail. And Haki feels like she is falling.
Oh, God help me.
5.
The city is in upheaval.
Seldom has she seen the citizens so enraged, so aggrieved. Seldom has she heard so many threats outspoken, so many voices raised in anger. The people have their own way of protesting, that is for sure. But usually, there are different factions to an argument, different groups voicing different opinions. This time, the city of Wistalia stands united. There is no man, no woman, no child that not agrees:
There is no forgiveness for a man who attempted to murder their queen.
Haki's chest aches.
Her side, the one that took the knife the would-be-assassin intended to kill her with, is on fire. The bandages wrap around her tightly, holding her together, but the pain is silver-white and hot. Shirayuki had wanted to give her painkillers, had almost managed to slip them into her tea. But Haki knew the medicine would have dulled her senses along with the pain, would have made her sleepy and dizzy, and there is nothing she hates more than not being in control of herself. Besides, she cannot sleep now. Not when there is something she has to do.
Her maid hovers behind her, fearful and worried. Sir Ren is a silent, guilt-filled shadow, berating himself quietly and ready to catch at any moment her should she stumble. Haki thinks of how she felt an impact at her side, the crossbow bolt suddenly protruding from the soft folds of her dress, the stunned disbelief at how someone could have been able to hit her through the window just like that. The red warmth that stained her fingers, the metallic stang of what only could be her own blood. The initial absence of pain, and then her brother-in-law's face when he realized what had happened, the ringing steel as his aides rushed to detain the attacker, their overwhelming guilt at not having been close enough to protect her palpable. Sir Ren, shielding her with his body. Zen, desperately calling for his bride.
Shirayuki's hands.
And then, finally: pain. Sharp, silver, agonizing pain.
"Haki."
Izana rises from behind his desk, his features the mask that is so unreadable to anyone and so expressive to her. There is so much in his face right now, enough that it makes her heart ache. She can see his worry, his fear, the amount of strength it takes him to not rush towards her but walk around the table, help her into a chair. His hands almost, almost, linger.
"You shouldn't be up."
"Your Majesty," she says and feels him straighten. She has not called him by his title in private since their wedding. He knows, she thinks, distractedly, watching the way his eyes dart to her side and back to her face, roam her features as if he expects to see a change in her eyes. "I have come with a request."
She can see the shift in his features, the almost unwilling fear that is pushed aside in favor of his usual calm.
"You were hurt in your own house, Mylady. That is an unforgivable thing. Ask, and I will give you whatever is in my power to grant."
Haki takes a deep breath and almost crumbles at the flash of pain that shoots through her. She steadies herself on the arms of the chair.
"Will you grant Florentian Bergatt mercy, Your Majesty?"
He is quiet for such a long time that she starts trembling, both from the strain and from exhaustion. His sea-blue eyes have turned cold, icy and distant. This is not the man I married, Haki thinks, distantly, and, at the same time: I married the King.
It is the king who speaks to her, now, Izana Wistalia, King of Clarines. His gaze is far, far away and devoid of any emotion. But Haki knows him. She can see the suppressed rage, the sorrow, the guilt he never even allows himself to feel.
"You should rest, Mylady. Knight Ren, accompany your Queen to her quarters and make sure she has everything she needs."
Later, in her room, Shirayuki hands her a cup. "Drink, Your Majesty, please."
Haki does. The effect is almost immediate, her limbs growing heavy, her head sinking into her pillows, her thoughts fogging up. But there is still something she needs to say, something they have to understand-
When Shirayuki takes the cup from her again, she catches the woman's hand.
"He did not want this."
Shirayuki's face is grim. "He tried to kill you."
"But he did not want to," she insists. "He was forced."
"There is nothing you can do to save him. The law is the law. He will be executed."
"The law is hard, but it is the law," she whispers, her eyes closing against her will. The pain in her side has receded to a dull, pulsating echo. "He did not wish for this to happen."
Izana. Izana. I am sorry. I never wanted to add to your burden-
"Sleep, Your Majesty," Shirayuki whispers.
Haki sleeps, and dreams of a tall, blonde boy with blue eyes full of unspoken sorrow and the weight of the world on his shoulders.
6.
It is a beautiful day.
He finds her on the bench in the garden, the one hidden away between tall hedges and a tall, overflowing lilac. It is still the bench he has found her on so often in the past. The gardens still are pretty, well-kept and blooming. Haki's hair is still fashioned into a simple bun at the top of her head, with two thick strands framing her face in the typical Northern style she never abandoned. She still is beautiful, and he still finds his thoughts stray towards her at the oddest of times. Nothing has changed since the day he found her sitting here, one year ago, and he first saw her not merely as a willing partner in this game of his that he plays, day by day: to protect a country, to preserve its peace.
A year has passed since he first saw her as a woman.
Then came the Bergatt Treason that forced him to execute the eldest son of the head of the main family. The day Izana thought he lost her. The day he promised himself he would keep her out of the line of fire, protect her with everything he has, except that there is one thing he cannot forget: he is the King. The peace of his realm comes before his own happiness.
(And the game shifts onto another level. The stakes rise with every person he learns to love, and sometimes he wishes he truly was as cold as the rumors say he is.)
So here they are now: the King of Clarines, so well-versed in the game of politics and human lives, and the woman he would give everything for, except that he cannot.
In the tall hedges that gleam in the afternoon sun light, a song thrush sings. The scent of lilac is overpowering. Haki's hands are clenched so tightly around the piece of parchment that he can see each knuckle, white and strained.
"He was a great man. He loved you very much." I am so, so sorry for your loss.
She lifts her face, but the grey eyes – eyes that change color depending on her mood, eyes that, over the years, have shown him more colors than he ever would have believed – are dull and empty.
"Thank you."
Her voice is as devoid of life as her eyes are. Izana hesitates for a second and then sinks down onto the bench. There are a thousand things he could say now – trained, slick words with easy kindness and real sympathy; or words of remembrance, warm and practiced. But he says nothing. Not now, not here. Not like this.
They sit in silence, listening to the song of the wind, until Haki lifts her face to his.
"You never needed my family's power, did you."
Of all the things she could have said, he has not expected this question-that-is-not-a-question. It is a statement, issued with the certainty of someone who has thought about the matter long and hard, has turned it over and over in his head and viewed all the angles, all the aspects. The words carry the finality of someone who has looked at every scrap of evidence, every piece of every argument, and has found that the final conclusion is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Izana has expected anything, but not this.
"And here I was thinking myself so clever," she continues when he fails to answer. "Agreeing to your proposal, marrying you. Becoming queen of Clarines. Securing the alliance between the Wistalia and Allurion families and, at the same time, fortifying both Clarines in general and Lyrias specifically against people like the Bergatt family. I was willing to leave behind my home and my family and come here – and all for a lie."
It hurts. The way she still refers to Lyrias as her home, despite the years she has spent in Wistalia. Despite the fact that he-
"It was no lie."
"Do not lie to me again!" Her voice cracks like a whip. Her are eyes blazing. "I have given you three and more years of my life so far. Do not further demean me with lies now! If nothing, you owe me this."
He draws back, the words dying on his lips. There is a pain in his side, somewhere between his ribs, a dull ache growing and growing with every second, threatening to take away his breath.
"Before our marriage, a contact of mine in the Bergatt House approached me with a proposal. He would ensure peace between us, if a certain number of demands of his were accommodated. As it was, they were reasonable, some of them I had even already planned for myself. It was a logical choice to make."
"It also rendered a connection between Lyrias and Wistalia useless."
"Not useless, never. Only… not immediately necessary."
"And last year? When you sent your brother to Celeg, to meet the new recruits from the Bergatt family?"
"They were members of a lesser family branch, part of my associate's group. I needed to establish contact with them. Zen reported back to me. He never knew they were already acting on my orders."
Haki throws her head back and laughs. The sound rises over the hedges, clear and grief-filled and oddly beautiful, loses itself in the early-summer sky. When she stops, there are tears in her eyes once again.
"Well, that certainly was one way to show me my own hubris. Securing peace. Protecting Lyrias. I have been really, really stupid, have I not? You must have thought me so naive and silly."
"Haki-"
"No." She draws back, away from his hands that seek hers. "Do not attempt to comfort me like a little girl. I have learned my lesson."
Izana has felt many things in his life. He has never felt as helpless as he does now before.
"What I want to know…" Her voice trails away, her eyes fixed on the horizon. Then, she shakes her head determinedly. "Well. It does not matter, I suppose. At least…"
She stops again.
"At least?" He prompts, the pain in his side now ghosting through his entire chest. Like he is slowly bleeding out on the inside.
"It…" She hesitates again. "It is a stupid question, I suppose, but how much more of a fool can I make myself in front of you?"
"Haki, I never-"
"Why me?"
Beat.
"…What?"
"Why me, Izana? Why choose me, member of a small and unimportant noble family? Only daughter of a lowly steward? Maybe the Allurion name carries weight, but there are other families, other women, who would have suited your purposes. You were already sure of my brother's allegiance, you could have arranged an alliance with a suitable daughter of another of your allies. Why go through the pain and marry me yourself?"
She has grey eyes, grey-as-grey, so oddly beautiful.
Izana thinks of all the things he could say, all the reasons he could give her. All the lies he could tell her, and she would accept them, despite her hate of lies, because it would mean something: him telling her a lie right here, right now, would be proof that this something between them was broken. Unfixable, permanently: it would have been a message in itself.
But he cannot.
He cannot tell her a lie. Izana Wistalia cannot look at the woman who has been his lawfully wedded wife, if not by reality then at least by law, and lie to her face. He always thought of himself as capable of doing whatever needed to be done. He has killed his brother's only friend, he has ruthlessly weeded out the corrupt politicians in the court without a regard for the innocent lives that were destroyed in the course. He has affronted people who thought themselves to be his true friends, he has cast out people who went to extract their revenge on him by destroying others: there probably is nothing he has not yet done for the sake of his country, and for the sake of the people who believe in his leadership. For the first time in his life, now, Izana finds himself incapable of uttering something as small and largely insignificant as a lie to a single person. He has smoothly lied to nobles and peasants. He has toppled noble families and slain usurpers, he has outwitted those who thought themselves invincible and has sentenced men to die without a single regret. Here it comes, finally: the one thing he cannot do for the life of him.
He cannot break the heart of the woman he loves more than he has already done.
"Because it was you."
His voice is quiet, he can hear the roughness in it.
"Because you never were afraid of me. Because you looked at me and did not see the prince or the king but a person. Because you smiled when you left your family, you smiled all the way from Lyrias to Wistalia, and only stopped when there was nobody left to watch you cry. Because you made the effort to get to know all the servants, chefs and chambermaids and still refuse to let them help you dress. Because you touch flowers like they are breakable, and still stop to smell their scent even though you have seen them so often now. Because your face when you look at the sea is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen."
He switches his gaze from the lilac bush to her face, and sees the disbelief in her eyes.
"Because your laugh is so unexpectedly clear every time I hear it. Because I can recognize your steps whenever you come to my office. Because you sacrificed everything you held dear in order to come to Wistalia, and still never resented me for taking you away."
He takes a deep breath and looks away from her again, over the hills and towards the ocean. There is so much more he wants to say, needs to say, because this might as well be the last time she will be at his side. He is not sure what he will do if she decides to leave, for the first time since forever cannot imagine how this will end. If she leaves, he thinks, he can at least give her the greatest gift he can make her: the truth. Everything else he has to offer, she does not need.
"Because you saw a boy on a winter morning, and you worried more for him than for yourself."
The wind picks up, rustles the leaves. They whisper, silent, echoing, and their song is full of the absence of any other sound. Even his heartbeat has quietened. Ironic, he thinks, that his heart would be bound to her despite her never having made any attempt to claim it.
"Izana."
Haki's voice is quiet.
"Look at me."
Breathing in deeply, he turns. …At least this. She is looking at him, her grey eyes wide.
"Do you love me?"
He closes his eyes, unable to answer. Something soft ghosts over his cheeks, her hands, her fingers flutter through the fine strands of hair that have loosened from his ponytail. Her skin is warm, but her fingers are trembling.
"I love you," she whispers, suddenly so close he can feel the breath of her exhalation. Her eyes are closed. Her lips touch his in the briefest of kisses, the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
He cannot help himself: he smiles.
Haki draws back again as her eyes open. Izana can still see the grief lingering in her eyes, but there is something else there, too: her face is a mixture of anger and joy.
"You stupid idiot. Were you ever going to tell me?"
His hands cup her face as he drinks in the sight of her.
"I am not going to answer this."
She rolls her eyes. "Suit yourself."
This time, Izana kisses her.