Lord Arvis woke early most days. She usually missed him before he left, but she was getting better at catching him. Dim sunlight peeked through the barely cracked curtains. She made no effort to extract herself from the blankets, but watched him get ready. He left her each morning to tend to her grandfather, King Azmur, and whatever he got up to there. Deirdre did not know it all.
She yawned, cheek squished on the pillow. How any man woke this early on his own she did not know. Maybe she used to, but like anything she used to do, it was a mystery to her, try as she did. (It would come, wouldn't it?) She wasn't due anywhere soon, not worth getting out of bed for. He'd leave soon, handsome as ever in black, so she could drift off for a few more hours.
He came to their bedside, mindful of where her legs might be. "Deirdre," he said, laying his hand on the subtle dip of her waist. "You could say something while you're up."
"Hm." She brought her hand up and out of the blankets, meeting his. "You're very nice to just look at." He sighed, as if he was not some grand lord to a duchy she'd not yet seen (one of these days; hearing from Lord Arvis, the servants, and her own grandfather, the world was a sad place to come to).
"Must you start so soon?"
Smiling, she slid her hand up. "Start what?"
Ignoring her flimsy attempts, he sat closer on the bed, one leg folded up on the bed, knee pressed near hers. "Where are you meant to be today?"
"The morning and afternoon with my grandfather. Perhaps a bit of the evening." Grandfather felt odd to say. When would it feel normal? Such a recent revelation, too! Until someone called her princess (despite her insistence that, really, Deirdre was fine) she did not remember. Taking her circlet off to bathe helped too, an explanation for the splotch hidden there. She still wore it during the day, but shed it for bed.
"Be on time, won't you?" he asked. She nodded, fingers now snared in his shirt collar, giving a firm yank. Following her tug, he came through; they were thinking differently, her to the left, he to the right, so her morning kiss landed on the corner of her mouth.
Darnable. "How was I to know every woman in Belhalla wakes at the same time?" she said. Now satisfied, Deirdre fixed his shirt. "I will be there. Perhaps we'll come home at the same time!"
"That would be nice."
"I'm sure I can convince Grandfather. He's been doing better." Better. As well as he could be. He took more meals out of his suite, managed to accompany her for strolls through the garden, and did not cough nearly as violently. Deirdre did not know him well enough to say he was at his best, the best he could be, but he was on his feet more. "I will see you then."
Princess Deirdre was a moment late.
When the truth came to light, the spot beneath her circlet brought to truth, Grandfather offered for her to stay in the palace with him. Her own room, like she always should have had, a few halls down from his and her (deceased) father's quarters. Where had she been all these years, he wondered, but she could not answer him. Despite her want to know the man, she turned him down—Lord Arvis—almost her husband!— had a nice home. Would a palace room fix her punctuality? Perhaps, but she liked Lord Arvis' company a bit too much.
Grandfather did not mind. They ate together, not that her appetite was much. Grandfather was a large man, by his portrait, yet now he sat in his chair with his shoulders slumped. "Your father liked plain oats too, Deirdre." He said her name more dear than anything, but she didn't correct him. He was ill, after all; his age, apparently, and the loss of her father did little to help. Made better by her existence, the cleric told her too, the proof that Saint Heim's line would continue.
She only took sugar in her tea over supper. Anything else kept her up. "Father?" Her childhood, gone from her, had not been in Belhalla; did she have a man to call father out there in the world, if not Prince Kurth? A mother? Friends? A locked chest she'd yet to bust open, despite her frustrated tears.
"Since he was a boy."
Wiping the corner of her mouth, curiosity mulling behind her teeth, she realized Grandfather (her father's father!) could tell her about Prince Kurth. One piece to know, even if he was not her past. "Grandfather, what else did Father like?"
His eyes opened more. "Your father?"
"Yes. I hardly know the man."
Renewed, Grandfather reached for his cane. "I am not certain where to begin but I am willing to try." His chair scratched across the floor. So soon? She took a quick drink, then moved to follow him. Shorter than him, but he did not make great strides with his cane in hand. Again, Deirdre did not know the full extent of whatever plagued him, but she took her spot at his elbow to offer whatever minimal support she could.
She'd taken one tour of the palace wholly. After, of course, they'd discovered the truth. She did not know it well, but was learning; someone was usually around, and the few times she'd gotten turned around, someone helped if asked, brought either to the room she sought or to her king's arm. Grandfather led her away from the room they normally ate in, taking her down the wide hallway back towards his rooms. The palace was grand and airy, mindfully managed, disturbed only by the rattle of his cough.
What would it have been like to live here as a girl? Grandfather was giving, kind, but she wondered if always being here would have been different. The bloodline of the Saint dotted on her brow. It did not feel real still, that she was a princess, the princess that Grandfather and her dormant blood needed. Did her father know she existed? If he didn't, who was her mother? If he did, why hide her? (Did he want her known?) Her father, Prince Kurth. (Kurth?)
Grandfather's steps slowed. Deirdre looked out the window with him. It looked past Belhalla and into the green fields that surround the city. "I have been blessed with a kingdom that let me be with my child when I could. I taught him to ride myself and how to use the sword. He was a brilliant child, which I have his mother to thank for." He sighed, but it turned into a rattling cough. "I let Kurth come into his duty young. His birthright, yes, but skilled in it."
"Take your time, Grandfather."
He shook his head. When was the last time he spoke of his son? "Not a day goes by that I do not miss him. I wish there was more time to tell you all, but most of all I wish you could have met…"
She wet her lips. "Do you…do you think he knew of me, sir?"
"I cannot fathom where you came from, girl. Kurth never had an eye for women." Grandfather straightened his shoulders, perhaps once strength distilled. "If the world had not been so cruel, you would be at his side. I know it. Excuse me, if you will."
"Did you know my father, Miss Ljot?" Princess Deirdre followed the healer out of her grandfather's suite and down to the infirmary. The other woman measured her steps, never at her side, and maybe she should have read the book Grandfather offered.
Ljot, too, held the door open for her. At least she had not been bowed to. "The prince? Not well." The infirmary was light, airy, and empty. The air was brisk, but she left her shawl in the tearoom, quite foolishly.
Deirdre folded her hands in front of her, rubbing her thumb with the opposite one. "Will you tell me what you do?"
Ljot laid her staff out on the table of the infirmary, a healer on-loan from House Edda. The duchy sat to the south of them, headed by a Father Claud she'd not met. Lord Arvis had shown her the country of Grannvale on a map, then the rest of the continent on the whole (with the oddest look in his eyes; he was not the easiest man to read). Ljot was not chatty, so Deirdre hoped her talking now was not because of her flimsy title.
Still, she took her time at least. She rinsed her hands off in a basin, then dried them, sloppily folding the hand towel. Deirdre, really, did not have anywhere else to be. Maybe lunch with Grandfather. Maybe lunch with her fiancé. Lunch was a few hours off. "Tall. Blond. Quite princely. A good type."
She waited a moment to say anything. "Is that all?"
"Yes." She pressed her thumb into her hand. Did her face show? Ljot sighed. "I came to Belhalla a few months before he left. Outside of tending to the king, when would we have talked? I have never bothered with gossip. If you're truly curious, Princess Deirdre, I would start with the household proper. The prince was a man of many years. I am certain someone knows about him."
Right. Servants would have known her father. Servants she did not know, for she'd been raised somewhere else. She'd have to know them soon. Not today. She did not know where to start. A stable hand? The kitchen? Could she speak with them? She laid a hand on the table, eyes drifting towards the staff. Its green top sparkled. "Of course, Ljot. I misjudged the time you've spent here."
"It's no offense, Princess Deirdre." Could Father use staves? Grandfather had taken her to see the divine tome, safe in the treasury; she felt its warmth beneath her palm, the ridges of its raised front against her skin. Her wrists nearly gave out when she tried to pick it up but then it was lighter, filling her chest with its comfort. She'd not been back. "Prince Kurth did come to Edda once while I was there," Ljot suddenly recalled. "Years ago, yes."
Baited once more. Deirdre needed to temper her expectations. "And?"
"And what? He ate, drank, danced, and left." Intriguing. If Deirdre could be so cocky, she thought herself a perfectly fine dancer. Lord Arvis taught her (innocent on his part; not always so much on hers) and there was also a dance instructor for proper touch-ups.
What else could Father do? She knew one another she could ask today without any fanfare. "I see. Thank you again, Ljot."
"Were you close with my father?" Deirdre, Princess Deirdre, did not get to be right often, but when she said goodbye to Grandfather for the day, she left with Lord Arvis on her arm (or her on his; the same).
"Your father?" he echoed; was that a twinge of confusion to his voice? Usually so knowing and confident! Typically, he held her hand in the carriage, and today was not different. She turned to see him wholly, leg up on the bench and dress trailing on the floor. "No more than any other man. Why do you ask?"
She did not know many. "I did not get the chance to be close to him. I pestered Grandfather today about him, and he mentioned the two of you talked quite a bit! I simply wonder. Grandfather speaks so fondly of him."
Rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, she remembered their first few months together where the lord of the home she lived in spent more time in the palace than with his guest. He glanced down at her, now engaged. "You should not be bothering the king like that. The prince's death left him bedridden."
"He indulged my questions, Lord Arvis. Will you?"
He would. A cold host at first, but, well, here they were. Hopefully she could be his wife soon, not just his fiancé, but Grandfather was being particular. "I knew the prince as a child."
"Is that it?"
"The only thing remarkable, yes."
"You were trusted with my grandfather and everything else here."
"Do you think I don't have my own merits? I truly had no opinions on your father, Deirdre."
"You have had opinions on everyone you've introduced me to." Brows knit together in (comfortable) confusion, she sat closer best she could. "It will be our secret, Arvis! I swear it."
He did not tell her no often, even as a guest, yet she waited for it every time she pushed. Today, he would not start. Head ducked to conspire with her, her stomach fluttered as his hand slid up her arm. This close, she now noticed the undone topmost button of his blouse, hidden by his cloak. She forced her eyes to his face. Their eyes met. "Your father, Prince Kurth, was a man who did much in my childhood. He let me attend the academy here early and did other things my maid could not. It ended when I turned fifteen. I cannot say in the eight years I had to speak with him or the years after I knew him more than anyone else. Whatever man the king says he is is the one you would have known."
So hesitant to tell her for something that did not even sound scandalous! She knew smatterings of his childhood, either his own admission or chittering of palace servants, so her father's involvement was not new. Why try to wiggle out of it? He did not know him. What shame was there in that? Lord Arvis was giving and close, so she took the chance to kiss his cheek. "Thank you." He smiled. Perhaps she'd sleep in her own room tonight. "I will be pestering Grandfather more tomorrow."
"Be kind about it."
"I am always kind."