Chapter Eleven.

'Roald, can I talk with you?'

The Prince looked up in surprise. 'We talk everyday, Uncle Gary.'

Gareth closed the office door and came forward to sit in the spare chair. Roald eyed him wearily. 'I mean really talk, Roald.'

'Oh.'

'Yes, oh.' Gary sighed. 'Roald- is everything all right? I've been worrying about you; you spend your whole day in this little room, working.'

'Everyone has to do their part for the realm, Uncle Gary.'

'Yes, but you're doing more than one person's fair share.' Gary kept his voice gentle and quiet, not wanting to spark the Prince's temper. He knew Roald was generally a calm young man but he had noticed how that had changed recently.

'I'm the Prince,' replied Roald, shrugging. 'I'm expected to.'

'No! No you're not. I don't know where you got the idea that you should be better than all of us, Roald, but it's not true.' Roald scowled and his uncle sighed. 'Look, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you. You're very pale of late; are you sure you are well?'

'I'm fine.'

'Roald, you'll do no-one any good if you're unwell. Just- calm down a bit; take a break.'

'Thank you, Uncle Gary, but like I said, I'm fine.'

Gary sighed and rose. 'Look, if you need someone to talk to, Roald- about anything- you can come to me. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

Shaking his head, Gary left the office just as Nelle was entering. Polite as ever, Gary held the door open for her before passing through.

Roald scowled when he saw the pretty little maid enter the room. He was annoyed at Gary's interference; no-one was supposed to question the Crown Prince about the bags under his eyes or the paleness of his cheeks.

Seeing Nelle reminded him painfully of last night. Shinko's kiss had been delicate and hot and he had wanted her, his dazed mind trying to catch up with his sudden passion. It had been natural to want her—until he felt the bracelet on her wrist. Then all memory flooded back to him.

This was Shinko- should he be doing this? He wasn't sure it was right of him. Oh yes, she was his wife, but he wasn't certain he wanted her in this way. He wouldn't take advantage of a woman, not even his own willing wife.

The problem was, he did not know what he wanted.

He closed his eyes against Nelle, but her image was scoured into his eyelids and he saw her still. He stood, roughly shoving the chair away, and Nelle looked up in surprise.

Stomping over, he grabbed her hands away from the tray rather more violently than he had intended. The tray clattered to the ground.

'Get out,' he ordered. Flinging her arms away as if they had burnt his palms, he turned his back to her.

Quivering, she stumbled towards the door. 'Y-Your H-Highness… please, f-forgive me… what d-did I-'

'Just go.' He kept his back to her, his eyes closed, until he heard the door shut gently. Ignoring the discarded food, he sunk into the chair by the fire, hiding his face in his hands.

--

He found her, eventually. She was with her friends- all young ladies of the Court, most just out of their Convents and from the best noble families- in one of the small indoor practice courts. They had converted what was normally an area for weapons and curses, into a congenial place of girls' talk and laughter.

At one end of the room the girls had set up nine wooden pins in a diamond formation and they gathered at the opposite end. Taking it in turns, they rolled a wooden ball along the floor to knock over as many pins as they could. Every time the pins clattered to the floor the noise was echoed by the giggles and claps of the watching ladies.

Roald watched from the doorway as his sister took the ball clumsily in her left hand and propped it against her hip until she had a better grasp. One of her friends offered to help, but Lianne shook her head, determined to do this on her own. When she was ready, she swung her arm and let the ball go. It hit the floor with a heavy thwack and rolled with a slight curve.

The three pins on the end spiralled down to the floor. Lianne spun round to receive her applause and caught sight of Roald by the door.

'Roald!' she cried, beaming. She ran across to him, placing a hand on his arm; he smiled down at her, glad to see her happy. 'Come join in with us!' She dragged him over to the group of ladies quickly smoothing their skirts and hair and curtseying.

'Oh no, Lianne, I would not humiliate you so.'

'You could not humiliate me, Roald, particularly not with such a game as this!'

'And what makes you think I can play?'

She planted her free hand on her hip. 'If I can do it with one hand you can do it with two!'

'No, Lianne. I would not interrupt your game.' His words were soft, and his small smile was still there. Lianne thought how long it had been since he had laughed and grinned; it was wonderful just to see the hint of a smile on his face.

'Oh, don't be so silly, Roald.' She waved a hand at her companions. 'Play on. Come, walk with me.' Linking her free arm through his, she moved them away from the skittles. 'Did you want to talk with me?' she asked when they were sufficiently far from her friends.

'I would rather you enjoyed yourself with your friends.'

'I can enjoy myself with you, Roald, and I rather think it is up to me who I spend my time with.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Is that so?'

'It is.' Unlinking her arm, she opened a side door that lead into a small room used for storing practice weapons and the padded gear worn while learning. 'Let's talk in here, away from everyone else.'

He had to smile. 'What an odd place to host a conversation, Annie.'

He was rewarded with a grin. There were no seats and the only stool was piled high with ripped, sweaty padded shirts. Without hesitation, the princess sat on the floor, pressing her back against the wall. She patted the floor beside her.

'What did you want to talk of, Roald?'

He viewed the dusty floor with discomfort. 'I… How is your arm?'

She fixed him with a look. 'Roald, you can't expect me to believe that you came all the way down here just to ask me that? Now, stop being a prude and sit next to me.'

'I am not a prude, Anne.' He sat down. She nudged him.

'Well then?'

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 'I don't know…'

'Bad day?' Lianne asked tenderly. He nodded. 'What happened?'

Roald shrugged. As he glanced around at the room, he was struck with a sudden memory.

He was eight years old, and Kally had just turned seven. They had snuck away from their watchful nurse and down into the practice courts. Hiding behind a bench they had gazed in awe at the third-year squires sparring.

'I'm going to be a better page than you,' Kalasin whispered.

Roald just rolled his eyes. 'Come on.' Scrambling to his feet he made his way along the back wall to the door. Kalasin followed, making as little noise as him; she had exchanged her satin skirts for the old pair of his breeches and shirt she kept for such occasions.

Roald opened the door and ushered her in. The squires never even noticed them, but Roald shut the door quietly, just in case.

Kalasin was staring at all the wooden weapons in amazement, her mouth agape. This was the first time Roald had brought her here.

'Wow,' she breathed.

Grinning, he pulled a wooden sword out of the nearest bucket and waved it in front of him. Not to be outdone, Kally ran for her own weapon. Unfortunately, the sword she pulled out was longer than she was tall and its point drooped to the floor as she tried to hold it.

Roald giggled and scowling, Kally discarded the sword and went for another. This time she was more successful and she pointed the weapon at her brother, grinning. Just like all the times they had duelled with sticks they had picked up from the gardens, Roald knocked her sword with his own. Giggling, she swiped back and they were off.

There were no intricate movements or delicately-placed footwork; it was the simple hack slash and bang of a child's game. Roald had long ago lost count of the number of times they had played this game together.

They moved as much as they could in the small room, but they were used to small sticks that broke easily and big spaces. Roald moved too far back and went straight into a barrel. It wobbled- and fell, spewing its contents onto the floor noisily.

Roald's attention was grasped by the mess he'd made, so he didn't see Kally's sword come swinging down onto his hand.

'Ow!' he cried, dropping his own sword. 'Kally!'

She giggled. 'Sorry, Ro.' When he continued to rub his hand, she frowned. 'Are you okay?'

'No! It hurts.'

She looked horrified. 'I'm sorry!' Her bottom lip trembled. 'I didn't mean to hurt you!'

'Don't cry, Kal. I'll be fine in a moment.' But he wasn't and she pulled him down to the floor, his back resting against the wall, their swords laying next to them. She took his hand in both of hers, trying to ignore his heavy breathing.

'It's broken, Roald! Oh, Roald, I'm so sorry!' There was a nice dark bruise beginning to spread across the back of his hand.

'Which bone, Kally?'

'This one.' She traced a finger along the bone that connected his first finger to his wrist.

'Can you fix it?'

She stared at him, wide-eyed. 'Roald… I… I've not healed bones yet.'

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. 'Okay, then. I'll have to think of something to bribe Duke Baird with again.'

'Well…' said Kally. 'I have learnt the theory of mending bones.'

Roald opened one eye and fixed her with it. 'Kal, I don't want you doing anything you're not ready for yet.'

She smiled and took his hand in her own again. She closed her eyes and Roald felt the blue coolness of her Gift touch him. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the bones slowly realigned and knitted themselves together.

When she had finished, she was shaking but smiling. He flung an arm around her shoulders and she settled back against the wall beside him. She picked up her sword and ran curious fingers along its length.

That's how they were when Aunt Buri found them. She marched them straight back to their worried nurse, and Kalasin got into extra trouble for discarding her beautiful dress in place of her brother's dirty old hand-me-downs. But she hadn't minded.

Later that evening she had given her brother a big hug, taking him by surprise. 'Thanks,' she whispered. 'That was the best birthday present ever- even if it was a little late.'

Now Roald was sitting in the very same store room, years later, with his other sister. He tried to imagine sparring with Lianne, and couldn't. He ran a finger across the back of his hand: there was a bump there where Kally hadn't healed the break quite perfectly.

'Roald?'

He blinked at Lianne.

'Are you okay? You seemed to daze out for a bit, there.'

He shook his head to rid himself of the memories and picked up a wood shaving from the floor, toying with it. 'Yes, I'm fine. What were we talking about?'

'You were about to tell me about your bad day.'

Was he really? He opened his mouth to reply- and the door swung open to the sound of laughing. They jumped and looked up.

'Liam!' cried Lianne, springing from the floor and launching herself at her brother. Liam was just a year older than her, but he towered over her- and his friends behind him.

'Annie!' Liam's shocked look turned into a smile to see his sister- but it quickly deteriorated into a frown. 'My little goose, what's happened to you?'

Roald stood, annoyed at himself for feeling slightly embarrassed to be caught on the floor of a storage room at his age, and brushed the dust from his fine breeches as Liam gave Annie a very careful hug.

'Oh, nothing,' she rejoined, flapping her free hand. 'I tumbled down the stairs.'

Liam fixed her with a stern look. 'Little goose, you must be more careful.'

She rolled her eyes and laid her hand on his arm, leaning into him. 'You've grown!'

'My dear little goose, I've been out in the world now-' he thumped his chest with his fist- 'of course I've grown!' Roald rolled his eyes and pressed a hand to the ache in the hollow of his back. He felt middle-aged compared to his energetic brother.

'Liam, you're ridiculous,' their sister teased. 'I never understood where you got your wild nature from.'

'Someone's got to be light-hearted in this family.'

'How come you're home, Liam?'

'Oh, don't sound so pleased to see me, brother dear.'

Lianne realised with fondness that Liam was taller than Roald, and somewhat more solid too. The younger brother wore a moustache, and his black hair long and unkempt. He was the only one of the Conté children to have inherited their mother's hazel eyes.

'I'm home for Midwinter.'

'You're late getting through.'

'I know, the passes were devilish.'

'How have they let you home, Liam?' asked Lianne, frowning a little. 'Are you taking your ordeal early?'

'No, little goose. My lord is home on leave; he shattered his shoulder blade.'

'Oh no!' Her little hand went to her mouth. 'Will he be okay?'

He squeezed her shoulder. 'Of course, the healers patched him up good and proper. He just needs a little rest, that's all.'

'What's war like, Liam?' asked Lianne, a little breathlessly. 'Roald won't tell me about it.'

'Well perhaps he's right there, much as it pains me to agree with him. War stories aren't very nice for little girls.'

She scowled. 'I'm not a little girl anymore, Liam. I'm sixteen.'

'I do apologise. War stories aren't for young ladies either, however pretty they are.' He winked at her and she felt slightly appeased.

Roald touched a hand to Lianne's arm, ignoring his brother's remark. 'Thank you, Lianne,' he said quietly, referring to earlier. 'Liam,' he added with a nod to the squire, and Roald left. As he shut the door he heard Liam remark, 'Well he's just as stiff as ever!'

'Liam!' scolded the Princess. Roald had never got on as well with his brothers as his sisters, so he was not bothered by Liam's words. He did hope however that Liam continued to refuse to tell Lianne about the war. All that blood and death… He shivered. It was not something he would want either of his sisters to experience.

Roald began to make his way back to his office. He wondered what he would have said if Liam hadn't arrived when he did. He doubted he would have told Lianne what was troubling him; he had just needed to get away and be in pleasant company for a while. In truth, he wanted Kalasin's company, but he couldn't have that.

A page rushed up to him, bowing. 'Your Highness!'

'Yes?'

'The King wants you.'

'Where?'

'In the study.'

Roald pressed a coin into the page's palm and changed his direction, his footsteps falling faster now. It didn't take him long to reach his father's room and he knocked before entering.

He was surprised to find no-one there. He went to the desk, but there was no note for him either. He was about to go when an adjoining door opened and Gary stuck his head in.

'Ah, Roald, there you are. Come on in.'

Roald went into the next room. Jon's "meeting room" was an extension of his study, for when he wanted to informally talk to many people; there was a long, wide oak table surrounded by chairs.

Roald entered and was surprised to find so many people present. He welcomed them as he came in: Sir Myles, Lady Cythera, his parents, a representative of the Own and another of the palace guard, and a number of mages and scholars in charge of decorating and organising social functions. It was a jolt when he saw Shinko, too.

Roald's cheeks burned crimson, as realisation hit him.

'There you are, Roald,' smiled his father. 'Did you forget? Never mind, take a seat.'

Roald mumbled an apology and slipped into his seat opposite his wife. How could he forget the meeting finalising the Midwinter festivities?

--

Shinko looked across the wide table at Roald. He was frowning intently, listening avidly to what his father had to say. For once, Shinko found she could not concentrate on the King's words.

Her heart ached to see her husband. They were so distant, and it was their greatest secret. He had become a stranger to her.

For her, there was nothing else in the room but him and the wide table separating them. She no longer heard Jon's voice and Sir Myles's answering questions; she didn't even register the rustle of fabric as Gareth of Naxen shifted in his seat at her side. All her senses focused on him. She could even almost smell him.

He wasn't so much as looking at her. All his attention was on his father- his duty- as always. He was out of his depth, as usual, but how had he forgotten the meeting? That was so utterly unlike him.

Oh, she craved to hold him. What had happened to their sweet romancing of years gone by? What had happened to his beauty? -It was being consummed by his desperate work.

Once, years ago, when he had left on a mission with a touch of danger and she had wished him well, they had found themselves overwhelmed by strong emotions.

'Come back to me safe,' she had pleaded. Their bodies were pressed close and their words were whispers; the thin canvas of their tent offered them poor shelter.

He had stroked her soft cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes following his fingers, and he moved to twirl a loose strand of hair around one finger. Keeping his eyes on his hand, he murmured, 'What would you do if I didn't come home?'

Her words were so choked that he nearly didn't make them out, but he knew what she felt without hearing her speak it. 'I would die of grieving if you left me.'

He had returned safe to her from that battle, and many battles more.

Now, across the table, he was fading from her. She knew then that he was leaving her. This was one battle- whatever daemon he was fighting- that he was losing.

Just as she had promised, she would die of grief for him. She loved him.

'Shinko?'

Gary's words brought her back to reality with a painful jolt and she realised she had stood, shoving her chair away from the table violently. Her eyes darted around the room to see everyone watching her. Their faces began to blur before her, but she was not crying. She was dizzy with despair.

She glanced at him. He was looking at her, puzzled, a small crease between his brows, his chin resting on his fingers. He was old before his age; he was out of his depth.

She barely managed a strangled "excuse me" before she fled.

Roald never came after her.

---