Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Sherwood Smith. Nothing belongs to me.
It was raining. Vidanric Renselaeus paused a moment to savor the fact, letting the little droplets splash onto his scalp and run down his face. He knew he could – and probably should – go back into the sumptuous suite provided for him at Athanarel, but somehow the image of being cooped up among the overstuffed cushions and polished silver filled him with a sense of claustrophobia. No, it was better to stay out here for now, wandering the manicured gardens on his own, and let the courtiers twitter from safely behind their windows.
A turn in the path brought him to the rose garden, a secluded area designed almost solely for romance. Here, a beautifully sculpted bench just large enough for two; there, another hidden behind a tactfully large row of bushes. The irony struck him just as it had many times before – the benches represented both faces of court, the face that wanted everyone to notice and the face that preferred to hide in the shadows – but even as he smiled wryly, a chain of new thoughts chased the smirk away.
Reaching out, he plucked a white rose from one of the bushes nearest to him and twirled it idly by the end of the stem. So many at court chose to know romance, but so few knew love. It seemed that as long as they kept their masks of careful contemplated indifference, they couldn't know love – no one would be honest enough to admit it to themselves or anyone else. So they frittered the time away, doing what others thought they should when it came to affairs of the heart and never truly happy – all save Bran and Nee, who were the least assuming out of everyone and were therefore able to fall completely in love with each other.
A pang struck Vidanric as he realized he could never be as open as Bran, due simply to the nature of his upbringing, and even if he wanted to be there was no one at court he could possibly imagine loving. The stories made it clear that love struck suddenly, without warning and perhaps concerning people one had known for a long time – but who could he have a sudden realization about? Too many court ladies were cold and uncaring, only seeking to further their own ends. He could never imagine loving one of them, but – even worse – he was going to have to pretend someday. The kingdom needed a queen.
Sharp pain lanced through his finger and he looked down ruefully at where a hidden thorn had pierced his skin. A point of scarlet welled up only to be washed away by a luckily placed raindrop, but his reverie was over. Turned slowly, he focused instead on the immaculate stone face of the Residence, then looked back at the rose in his hand.
What had become of Meliara? He didn't know what made him think of her at that moment, except maybe for the fact that being out among the plants, in the rain, would never fail to remind him of the countess. She had been forthright, uneducated but determined all the same, pushing forward with a persistence that had always surprised him. And she had made it startlingly clear that she hated him, seemingly for more than simply the unfortunate circumstances of their first encounter. And she had left – left her brother, who was perfectly happy to be in his care – rather than stay in his household.
He realized with a twinge of amusement that he was unintentionally shaking his head. He wished that she didn't hate him – possibly more so that she didn't hate him than he would have wished for anyone else not to – but there seemed to be no way to correct past prejudices. She had already made it obvious she was never going to go to Remalna-City again if she could help it, although he doubted it was just because she didn't want to be reminded of past experiences. After all, everyone in court had gone through things they would never want to remember again – but they recovered, and were now trying to go about their lives as usual. And he told himself it was remarkably self-centered to assume that he was a key factor in her reluctance to come, but was forced to admit that it seemed likely.
Suddenly, he had to stop thinking about a topic that was becoming too painful for him, and made up his mind to go back to his rooms. Starting forward, he stopped when another person rounded the path in his direction. The figure of Lady Tamara Chamadis sheltered by an umbrella materialized through the rain, apparently too lost in thought to notice him – he knew she had noticed him as soon as he came into view, or maybe even from a window, and was just waiting for him to make the first sign of recognition. Two could play at that game; he looked down at his rose and kept walking even when he sensed her eyes on him.
"Vidanric! I must admit, I did not expect to meet you here. Do you just like the rain, or did you have a particular reason for being out here?" He stopped and looked at her, her sapphire eyes boring into his own.
"I could say the same to you," he replied, shrugging noncommittally. Courtesy and his own nature dictated that he must be polite and attentive; they did not require that he be effusive. If he were to behave this way to anyone else, he would feel guilty – but he knew both that she wouldn't mind and that he was going to be required to pay much more respect to her in the future if her attentions continued to increase.
Indeed, she merely smiled in a way that could be seen either as charming or predatory and made the quick gesture for a good hit with her fan. "Since we appear to be the only ones insane enough to walk in this weather, why don't we stroll together? I have recently desired your opinion on several manners." He recognized a trap set by a master – what's more, she knew he recognized it. Giving her a half bow, he moved to her side and they began the circuit around the Residence.