‹›‹O›‹›
That afternoon, Rhianna and Gauvain took their lunch together in one of the palace dining rooms, and she found herself smiling genuine smiles, for the first time in such a long time. It felt right, sitting with him like this, talking to him, watching him from across the table. She enjoyed the way he gestured with his hands when he spoke, and the warmth in his eyes. The way his lips curved up at the corners in a mischievous smile. There were self-conscious chuckles, and shy glances; they still barely knew one another, in spite of what they had shared the night before.
But now, they had all the time in the world to get to know one another.
"Pardonnez-moi, Votre Majeste." Gauvain's footman stood in the doorway.
"Oui?" Gauvain replied.
"Visitors are here to see you," the man continued in Orlesian.
"Visitors?"
Gauvain's tone made it clear that he was not expecting anyone. Before he could respond further, two young boys who looked to be about six and eight years of age ran into the room. They were handsome boys, with dark skin and curly brown hair, and they flung themselves at Gauvain.
"Papa! Papa!" they cried, as Gauvain wrapped them up in his arms.
Papa?
Were these boys his . . . sons?
Gauvain had children?
Now, a woman appeared in the doorway. She was a few years older than Rhianna, and beautiful, with round, red cheeks, and blue eyes. Her curly blonde hair was done up in a knot at the back of her head, with just a few tendrils left loose to frame the pale skin of her face.
Rhianna went still, had difficulty taking a breath.
Who was this woman, and these children? What were they doing here?
She glanced at Gauvain, and when he met her eyes, she knew. This was his family. The family he left behind in Orlais when he came here to take the throne. Celene had been adamant that Gauvain was not married, so the woman must be his mistress. And there was no question that the boys were his sons; they had his eyes, and his finely shaped features.
His sons. He had sons. And he'd said nothing about them, not a single word, nor about this woman who hovered in the doorway.
Were they here to stay?
Of course they were. Gauvain adored his children, that was obvious after seeing them together for even a few seconds. Of course he would bring them here to live with him. And his mistress as well; it was common practice in Orlais to keep a woman on the side, especially when one's marriage had been born of political convenience rather than love.
Something fluttered inside Rhianna's chest, a sort of panic, like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage as it tried to break free. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back. She would not cry. She would not shed even a single tear for this man, or for this new betrayal. She wasn't hurt by the fact of this family - of course he would have a family - but by his failure to tell her about them. His failure to speak to her of them even once, and to warn her of their arrival. For making love to her, for making her believe he cared, knowing all the while that his lover and children would be back with him any day.
"Rhianna, I would like you to meet my sons, Henri and Guillaume." Gauvain's voice shook, slightly. Had he not expected them to arrive like this? "Boys, this is my lady wife, Rhianna Presd'eaux, the Queen of Ferelden."
"Bonjour Madame," the boys said in unison, and bowed deeply.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Majesty," the older of the two boys - Henri - added, in Fereldan.
Again, tears threatened. Such gorgeous children, with perfect manners. She was hit by pang of longing for her own son and also for Oren. Hopefully he, at least, was safe in Antiva, even if Rhianna would never see him again. Perhaps when he grew into a man, he would return to Ferelden, and wrest it back from Orlais, as Maric and Loghain and Rowan had done during the Rebellion. But for now, she could only think of him as the little boy she knew, with his ready smile and sparkling eyes.
These boys also had ready smiles, and eyes that sparkled, and something inside Rhianna crumbled at the sight of them.
"Hello, Henri. Guillaume. It is a pleasure to meet you as well." She gave each of them the prettiest smile she could muster.
Gauvain gestured to the woman in the doorway, encouraging her to step into the room. "Rhianna, I would like you to meet Claire."
The woman came to stand near Gauvain, but didn't reach out to touch him. She gave Rhianna a tentative smile, one that appeared uncertain of the welcome she would receive.
"Hello. Claire." Rhianna kept the smile plastered into place. This woman and her sons had done Rhianna no wrong, and should not have to suffer her displeasure. She would save that for Gauvain. "And well met. You and your sons are most welcome here in Ferelden."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Claire gave a slight curtsey, and now her smile reached all the way to her eyes.
Rhianna glanced at Gauvain, and he, too, smiled, and some of the tension left his shoulders. But when she met his gaze, and he saw what was in her eyes, his smile faded.
"If you'll excuse me," she said, and pushed herself to her feet. "I have things to which I must attend. And I've no doubt the four of you have catching up to do." Without looking back, she left the dining room and just began to walk. When her feet took her out of the palace, she turned and went up the hill toward Fort Drakon. No one dared to challenge her as she climbed the steps; she was, after all, the queen.
On the pavement of the roof, there were still scorch marks from the battle against the archdemon. Rhianna had not been here to see that, but she had seen the creature's enormous head paraded through the city afterward. Even now, its skull stood on display in the center of the Denerim market square.
The archdemon. He had caused all this. Caused the destruction that murdered her husband and her father and thousands of others across the land. Had left Ferelden so defenseless that she had no way of keeping Orlais from crossing the borders.
Rhianna walked to the northern edge of the roof and looked out at the sea.
This is where she and Loghain had sat on that first night they spent together. He'd brought a picnic, and they'd sat on a blanket and watched the sun set. A shooting star had streaked across the sky, and she'd wished for just one thing: to marry the man she loved. To marry Loghain Mac Tir.
She would never regret that. Never. Even though their time together was cut so tragically short. Even though her life had been torn apart afterward in every way possible. Even though their son had been taken from her, and it felt as though she had lost a part of her own body. She could never regret loving Loghain.
Finally, she allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek, and gazed out at the vista below.
It was beautiful here, so very beautiful. The sun shone bright overhead, and fat, puffy clouds drifted past, stark white against the turquoise sky. To the southeast sat the Smugglers Cove where she and Loghain had ridden all those years ago. That day, they'd been attacked by assassins. Assassins sent by Empress Celene.
Today, Rhianna had survived an assassination of another kind.
The wind played through her hair as she stood at the edge of the tower and looked down. It was such a long drop to the bottom. How easy it would be to take those a few steps, and, just like that, all her pain would be over.
No. She moved back from the edge, afraid of herself for even having such thoughts. She couldn't consider such a thing, not while Gareth lived. Not while there was some chance she would see him again, cradle him in her arms, hear the sound of his voice and feel his fingers grab hold of her.
Things had changed, though. What a fool she had been, thinking any happiness was possible for her here. With him. He already had a woman he loved; he had no use for Rhianna except as a figurehead, and a broodmare to give birth to his heirs, because surely his bastard sons could not inherit the throne.
She would be polite to Claire and the children. They had done nothing wrong. And perhaps she would be polite to Gauvain, as well. She would do anything, if only he would help her get Gareth back. But whatever she thought might have passed between them the previous night was dead. Completely and utterly dead. She would lay with him again, no doubt.
But only out of duty, and nothing more.
‹›‹O›‹›
That evening, there was a knock at her door.
"Rhianna." He stood in the doorway, his shoulders slightly hunched, as though a weight hung from them. "May we talk?"
Rhianna shrugged, and stepped back so he could enter the room.
He closed the door behind him, and stepped close, grasping her shoulders between his hands. Rhianna flinched away and took a single step back, so she was just out of his reach. He did not try to come close again.
"Rhianna. I am so sorry. Truly sorry. I had no idea they would arrive like this." His breath hitched, and he shook his head. "I intended to tell you about them, I swear it. To ask your permission before inviting them here to live. This is your home, and I would never just assume that they would be welcome here. Celene arranged for this, without informing me first. I am so sorry it happened this way."
"Yes, it came as a surprise," she admitted. "But it hardly matters. It's not as though you and I meant anything to one another."
He flinched at those words, as though they hurt him, somehow. But why? It was a simple statement of fact. He already had a family he loved; why would Rhianna have meant anything to him at all?
"Rhianna . . . please, don't say that. I had hoped-"
"You hoped what? That last night was the beginning of something between us?" She couldn't quite keep the edge of anger from her voice. "Why should it have been? Neither one of us wanted this marriage; you were forced into it as much as I was. Before all this happened, we both had lives. Families we love. I should think you would be happy now. Your family is here with you. Your children are here. I should think you would be grateful for that."
Her voice shook, and she clenched her fists, angry with herself for this show of emotion. It's not as though she cared, after all. Last night, and this morning, she had thought that someday she might come to care, but it hadn't happened yet.
It hadn't.
And now it never would.
"Rhianna . . ."
She turned, and strode over to the window. The view below was burned into her memory now, as no other place had ever been before. It comforted her to look down into the garden, but she hated it, as well. The reminder that this was all that was left to her. This view, from the prison that was now her home.
"Please," she murmured, as a tear crept down her cheek. "Just go."
‹›‹O›‹›
