Chapter 1
Approximately 1½ years later.
Alanna spoke firmly, yet diplomatically, to Lord Reymond of Torhelm. On the inside, however, she was struggling to keep her voice steady. The long day was starting to wear on her, and her temper was getting harder and harder to keep reined in. They'd been listening to the Lord of Torhelm for a long while, and it was time they wrapped up his petition. Finally, she voiced a fair compromise and the man bowed gratefully to the monarchs, but she noticed the fearful shift of his eyes towards her husband. As the Lord strode out of the throne room, with a nervous swiftness that befell most of the visiting courtiers these days, Alanna was once again struck with the irony of her role.
When Jonathan had asked for her hand a few years prior, she had imagined herself to be a horrible candidate for Tortall's Queen. She had been positive that all she would do was make a mess of things and anger the court. However, time had made a fool of them all, and here she was smoothing things over and doing everything in her power to keep Tortall from open rebellion. That included holding her tongue, forcing a smile, and oddly enough, cleaning up the messes her husband made.
She desperately wanted to deny the change that had come over her throughout the past year. It was draining, truly. She was not a natural at being a queen. She used to think that war simply meant blood, battles, and swords. However, she was now tangled in a war of words, political maneuvering, and deceit. This type of war was an ever-changing beast — a whole different animal, and it was wearing her thin. Every day she woke up a little more exhausted and a little more bitter. She wished, more than anything, to be Sir Alanna again. She wanted a helm and the freedom of a short temper. However, she could wish all she wanted, but the reality of everything remained. She was a queen, she wore a crown, and short tempers had no place in the preservation of kingdom.
Brushing such thoughts aside, Alanna reluctantly returned her attention to the court and the endless petitions being proposed before the reigning king and queen. While there were significantly fewer petitions since the first arrests had been made, these court sessions still lasted the better part of the afternoon. Now, after several bell's worth of time had passed, Alanna's spine was starting to resent the throne she sat upon, despite the fact that she had once found the cushioned seat most comfortable.
The next courtier came and kneeled before the throne. Alanna gave an internal sigh as the portly lord ambled to his feet and straightened out his coat. He cleared his throat loudly and began to speak. Lord Fauther was a minor lord from the northern reaches of Tortall and often considered himself to be far beyond his station. She had already felt the weariness from the day settle into her bones and she knew that the king felt the same. This usually meant trouble was possibly on the horizon should a courtier display behavior that was, in fact, beyond his station. She internally prepared herself to act as the mediator once more.
As Lord Fauther continued with his lengthy, obviously rehearsed speech, Alanna shot a sideways glance at Roger. Her husband seemed to be radiating a serene calmness, but she knew better. After holding court for over a year, Alanna recognized the intermittent twitch of his hand that was the only visible sign of his irritation.
The twitch became more frequent as Lord Fauther seemed to become more passionate, and consequently more self-entitled, about his petition. Finally, with a dramatic flourish, the man finished his statement – only to be rewarded with a noncommittal wave of Roger's hand.
"I'll think it over, Lord Fauther, but I do not believe I can grant you the funds you are requesting."
Alanna suppressed a sigh. She had expected Roger's reply to be as such, but she couldn't help but wonder sometimes how things would have been if Jonathan had been king. She knew Jon had been flawed as man, but she had never gotten the chance to know Jonathan the King. When she had been his squire, she had heard his passionate speeches about the delicate balance a kingdom required and the attentiveness that a king needed in order to rule fairly and justly. This, whatever this was that Roger had created, was not a balanced kingdom. Despite Lord Fauther's arrogance, he still deserved the same attention and consideration as everyone else. However, Alanna would play along with Roger's games, for she had not the power to right the skewed balance that had befallen the Kingdom of Tortall. Therefore, she pressed her lips into a thin line and kept a careful eye on both the lord and her husband.
The lesser lord looked indignant, and with his insulted pride most likely at the forefront of his mind, he fixed Roger with an angry glare. Alanna leaned forward, resting her hand on Roger's in order to stop the involuntary twitch from becoming noticeable. She then gave her husband a minute shake of the head and glanced at the foolish lord, "Lord Fauther, you do not have the assets, nor the history of reliability, for the crown to be able to grant you such a large sum of coin. I assure you, we will consider your offer with the utmost sincerity, but we cannot guarantee you anything at the moment. You will be informed as soon as we come to a decision regarding your petition."
Lord Fauther opened his mouth to argue once more, but Alanna spoke quickly before a word could leave his gaping mouth, "You are dismissed. Next petition, please."
As court came to a close, Alanna's brother approached the dais. As acting Prime Minister, Thom usually had a thing or two to comment on at the end of a session. Sometimes Alanna wondered what Roger's intentions were in having not one, but both of the Trebond twins in positions of power in his court. She could understand her ownposition. As his queen, Roger could keep a close eye on his most likely enemy. She had the uneasy suspicion that Thom's life hung in the balance of her relationship with the king. Thom was a reminder that, should she step out of line, Roger could still destroy someone she loved. Thom was merely a pawn with a mask of power. Si Cham, a Mithran Priest who had once instructed Thom in magic, had not been so lucky.
Si Cham's presence had been demanded in the capital shortly after the coronation ceremonies. Roger did not like the state of his life to be, in any way, attached to another person's. Now that he was king, he no longer needed Thom's magical connection in that way. Alanna still didn't know the exact state of Roger's magical abilities. Nonetheless, Si Cham, who had already been informed of Thom's declining state of health, had been called on to purify Thom's magic and separate the tie between Thom's life and Roger's. Upon completing that remarkable feat of magic, Roger had executed Si Cham as a threat to the crown under accusations of treachery. Alanna wished she could have had a chance to spare the man's life, but her position was too precarious at the time to do anything but stand by and watch as her brother's savior was hung until dead. Si Cham was not the only one to die. Several people, specifically those who had been openly loyal to Jonathan and were useless to Roger, had been sentenced to imprisonment or death. Roger's rule had begun, unabashedly on his part, with executions.
So, as her brother came to stand by her side, she silently thanked Si Cham once more and prayed a silent prayer to the Goddess and the Black God for him to have peace. Thom had been steadily regaining his health over the past year and a half. Now, his figure had filled out some and his clothes no longer hung loosely on his frame. His coppery hair had lost most of its dullness and his cutting wit had returned with a vengeance. Thom turned to Roger, with a smirk on his face.
"Personally, I believe you shouldn't have granted the Lord of Torhelm's request. He'll only be bolder the next time he comes."
Alanna scoffed and rolled her eyes, well aware of the fact it came off as a rather childish gesture, "Yes, and he would've caused more trouble had we not found a favorable compromise for him. He is a rather powerful lord, Thom, no matter how skittish he appears."
Thom smiled wryly, "Well, I believe anyone would be skittish with the possibility of arrest hanging over them every time they come to court. And my, Alanna, aren't you turning into quite the diplomat."
"Quite the interrupter as well." Roger said mildly and then cocked his head as if assessing his queen. He seemed to come to a satisfying conclusion for he smiled. "Better you deal with the fools than me," he stated simply, holding his arm out for Alanna. "Come, we have some things to discuss before the evening meal."
Alanna grudgingly placed her hand on Roger's arm and the two descended from the dais, leaving the ornate thrones empty behind them. As they left the room, Alanna spared it a single backwards glance. Shards of dying sunlight fell across the room, illuminating it with a fading glow as the guards began to herd the remaining people towards the door. With a small pang of remembrance, she thought of the two monarchs who had held court there before her and Roger. The Throne Room had been a lot less dangerous back then.
While they seemed to compliment each other in temperament while holding court, the king and queen were not the most compatible of partners. Alanna had no false illusions of companionship between herself and Roger. After all, a history such as theirs was not easily brushed aside.
When she had first returned to Corus and found Roger with a beating heart, outright war was declared. The animosity between Sir Alanna and Duke Roger was a well known fact throughout the kingdom. After all, she was hardly expected to have any positive feelings towards the man she killed. Friendship had never been considered grounds for killing a man. However, life these days demanded an excess of subtlety. Hate between a knight and a duke was one thing, but hate between the reigning king and queen was a whole other issue.
As it was, Alanna found herself sprawled on the settee in Roger's personal study, purposely exaggerating her unladylike tendencies because she knew it irritated her husband. The deep green silk of her dress was most likely gathering a mass amount of unsightly creases, but she couldn't care less. There were more important things to worry about than the appearance of her clothing. She had a moment to spare before freshening up for supper and these moments were not to be wasted. So, examining her nails, she nonchalantly began the game that she and Roger had been playing for over a year.
"I believe Lord Fauther looked you in the eye today, Roger. How very insubordinate of him. Shall I call for an arrest?"
Roger looked up from his paperwork with a bland smile on his face. "Oh, I'll let him by this once. After all, I'm rather knowledgeable of the importance of second chances."
Time to remind him, Alanna thought, it's been at least a week. She smiled slyly, "Let's hope he's better at second chances than you."
She rose from her reclining position and started to walk into the adjoining chamber. She stopped just before the threshold and looked over her shoulder, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "As I recall, the true heir to the throne is still alive and well, running amok somewhere in the lands. Goddess be kind, I hope he gives you no trouble in the future, Your Majesty."
After giving him a mocking curtsey, she swiftly shut the chamber door and let out a breath. Roger was no fool. He knew the importance of these little battles and was well attuned to the ever shifting balance of power between them. The game was over for now, and thanks to her trump card, Alanna had won…this time. However, she was no fool either. She knew that a single battle won did not mean the end of a war, and there was no end in sight for this particular war.
After her bath, Alanna found herself fidgeting as one of her ladies-in-waiting put pin after pin into her hair and then maneuvered the long locks into a coronet. Roger had long since commanded, not merely requested, that she grow her hair out to a suitable length. She had acquiesced and granted him that small victory, for her hair was of little consequence next to the well-being of a kingdom. So, over a year later, her coppery hair hung just past her shoulder blades. She almost always had it pulled back or pinned up in some way, to keep it from falling into her eyes. However, she was finding herself more and more impatient with the process as time went on and thought longingly of the simpler days when the length of her hair was not an issue one way or another.
Alanna's youngest lady-in-waiting, Nellie, began to twist diamond studded pins into her coronet. Alanna shook her head, disturbing the process and felt a sharp jab to her scalp. She winced a little and Nellie gave a small gasp, "I—I'm sorry, My Lady. I—"
Alanna held up a hand, effectively silencing the girl, "The black stones, please, Nellie."
Cythera, who had come to be an unlikely friend to the queen, stepped forward. "Alanna, it's been over a year. Surely, the appropriate time for mourning has passed. You know it only angers the king."
Alanna glanced up, meeting Cythera's eyes in the mirror, "There are new things to mourn every day, Cyth," she replied quietly, reaching back to lightly touch Nellie's shoulder, "the black stones, please." She watched as Cythera gave a sharp nod to Nellie and the girl rushed to get the onyx studded pins that Alanna had worn often since the first executions of Roger's reign. Defiance had become a much more delicate art for Alanna than it had been in the past, yet she did what she could. If it wasn't the pins, it was a ribbon or a brooch. There was always a touch of black to be found on Alanna's person.
Satisfied with her queen's hair, Nellie curtsied deeply and stepped back to let Alanna stand. Alanna thanked her and watched as the girl left to ready her gown for the evening. Alanna, thinking of Nellie's kind and innocent nature, waited for the door to close fully before turning to Cythera with a grave sigh, "It may anger him, but it's all for the better if Roger's anger is directed at me rather than anyone else."
Dinner was an elaborate and public affair and, as always, it was like dining in a pit of vipers. Alanna was not fooled by the elaborate clothes, delicately chosen gestures, and blinding smiles. Dinner was nothing but a beautifully disguised political minefield, much like the royal balls. She had long since mastered the art of conversing while using as few words as possible. For the most part, she tried to get through dinner with a series of well-timed smiles and nods. Often, a white lie was needed to keep conversation light. Tonight, in particular, was proving to be a popular night for white lies.
A selection of high ranking nobles sat at the long table, seated in the order of their value to the king. Servants lined the walls, practically invisible until someone beckoned them forth for one reason or another. As queen, Alanna sat at Roger's right side, although she knew that had more to do with tradition than with value. On Roger's other side was the King's Champion, Alex of Tirragen. His dark eyes gave nothing away as he sipped at his wine and conversed lightly with Delia of Eldorne.
Delia currently served the purpose of being one of Roger's worst and best kept secrets. Alanna was well aware of Roger's late night rendezvous with the beautiful woman, however, not many others were as well informed as she was. Alanna supposed that sharing chambers with a person tended to make one more aware of their absences, no matter how fond one was of said absences. The woman's tinkling laugh grated on Alanna's eardrums, and she purposefully ignored the sly glances that Delia kept sending her way. She had bigger problems at hand than her husband's token of infidelity — such as the abundance of silver utensils arrayed around her plates.
Alanna narrowed her eyes at the assortment in front of her and then glanced at Thom with a pleading look in her eyes. Thom smiled wickedly and touched the far right fork…and switched to the middle one and then picked up a spoon. Alanna bared her teeth at him and then picked a fork at random. It was times like these that she wished she had paid more attention to that bore of a deportment class. With this thought came a sharp stab of nostalgia. No, she didn't regret not paying attention in deportment class, for the memory of sharing jokes with her old friends was far more valuable than knowing which fork to use.
Alanna gave an internal sigh of relief. It was nice to know that there were some things that Roger could not take away from her.
Someone cleared their throat and Alanna blinked to find both Alex and Delia staring at her. Delia smiled with well feigned politeness, "My Lady, I was just saying that those are quite the pins you've in your hair. I've been looking for stones shaped as such. Although, I might pick a stone that is a bit less…somber."
Alanna smiled with even better feigned politeness, "I'd be glad to put you in touch with the craftsman and, yes, I agree that a brighter color might suit your purposes a little better."
Out of the corner of her eye, Alanna saw Alex smile mildly, as if he recognized the exchange of thinly veiled insults and found it pleasantly entertaining. She turned to him, "Sir Alex, you seem to be a connoisseur of dark colored clothing. Tell me, how does my complexion fare alongside the onyx?"
Alex raised an eyebrow at Alanna's uncharacteristically shallow statement, but was otherwise unruffled. He replied without missing a beat, "You look stunning as always, my queen."
She glanced down, trying to look flattered and not frustrated by his words, "You're too kind, Sir Alex."
"You look stunning, my queen," Delia mocked under her breath, just loud enough for Alanna to hear.
Knowing that Delia, and Alex in his own way, were goading her in an attempt to get a reaction, Alanna bit her tongue. She feared that it would be permanently indented, for she'd been biting it intermittently for the better part of the hour in order to keep herself from saying something foolish. The only thing stunning about her was her temper, and even that was kept on a short leash now.
It was as if the servants noticed the tension in the air and the next course was served, with all the complications of forks and spoons alongside it. Alanna sighed. Conversation slowed as the focus was shifted to the main course and she closed her eyes for a moment. There used to be a time when dinner wasn't so exhausting.
Upon opening them she found Thayet, who was seated a couple chairs down, giving her a concerned look. Alanna gave the foreign princess a small, but genuine smile. She then noted, for the first time, who was seated on Thayet's left. Alanna cringed on the inside, but attempted to give Josiane Rittevon a small, albeit not-so-genuine smile. It turned out to be more of a grimace. The Copper Isles Princess gave her dazzling grin in response, but her eyes were shadowed with bitterness. Alanna had no idea why the woman remained in Tortall instead of returning to her homeland, but she supposed that everyone had secret reasons for the things they did these days.
Lies and vipers. Her life was nothing but lies and vipers.
