Chapter 5: Battlements are Pleasant Company (Part 2)
~*~ Prince of Ice ~*~
His green eyes frosty, Marinel watched from above as the ambassador, accompanied by Meriel, strolled through Roshaun's carefully cultivated greenhouse. As he observed from fifty feet above them, the cold fury that had closed around his locked heart allowed jealousy to creep in. Shaking himself, he tore his gaze away and looked out over the vast landscape. The icy, sharp breeze brushed more color into his pale cheeks, and as he stood on the high bastion alone, with the wind rustling through his hair and making his cloak ripple, he looked like a king–which he was, of course. But there was unhappiness written in every line of him. Over the past few days, he had seen less of Meriel than he would have wished. She had dedicated most of her time to cementing her image as his sister–except that none of it had been spent with him. Instead, she had been entertaining–or being entertained by–the king's emissary, who Marinel deeply detested.
There was more to it than the fact that he couldn't figure out this woman's secrets, although he knew he would have to. Sooner or later, he would be called away, and he didn't feel comfortable leaving her there alone. He wouldn't feel comfortable knowing she was with that conniving diplomat. As it was, he didn't trust her. He knew she was brilliant. She had powers that were harnessed by strong control; likewise, her composure could not be shaken. The initial softness that he had felt when she had been injured, when he had carried her up the stairs, had been quickly replaced by grudging admiration for her abilities. He was formal and polite whenever they were together, and that was always when there were other people in the same room. Marinel frowned. He would have to make the effort to seek her out soon.
He was feeling restless and impatient. He would have preferred to return to the West, but he had qualms about leaving the ambassador alone–or at least without his own sharp eye to watch over him, and the general was used to trusting no one except himself and the others–in Roshaun's home. He had heard of recent, troubling events in the capital, and he did not expect the Northern general to be able to return anytime soon. Thus, he managed the affairs of the West from afar and still kept both palaces in running order. Everything seemed to be quiet...a little too quiet, in his opinion. A commotion below made him rethink his prior thoughts–everything was peaceful...except for one pompous ambassador.
Against his better judgement, he had sent Pyralis home. With Isadora, who had apparently recovered her memory–not that the Eastern King-General had done anything about it, his comrade thought sourly. It wasn't that he was trying to be tactful or considerate; Marinel was definitely not known for his subtlety. The other three had compared his bluntness to a sword that had lain untouched for a thousand years, rusting over with time. He had just wanted to rid the castle of two mysterious women, which would definitely have attracted the king's attention. Instead, it was known at the Eastern Palace that the King-General Pyralis had returned home for a vacation of sorts with, as usual, a female companion. Meanwhile, Marinel had to deal with two castles, a false sister who he really had to interrogate, and an annoying man.
'Marinel...'
Sighing, he concentrated on the summons from afar. Sylvain sounded distant and preoccupied. 'Yes?'
'Er...have you heard anything from Roshaun recently?'
'No. Should I have? If you are, tell him to get back here as soon as I can. I have enough to handle as it is. Why has he been closeted with the king for so long?'
'He's...um...there's no other way to put it. Marinel, he's getting married.'
The blond general spluttered incoherently for a few minutes. 'What?!'
'I'm getting very secondhand information here, and both Pyralis and I have tried to approach him, but he refuses to talk to any of us mind-to-mind. Apparently one of the princesses showed up. It seemed like a joke until she scrubbed off all the dirt from her trip or something like that, and she's been confirmed as the Princess of Venus. Except she's the queen now. And she's marrying Roshaun, because there were betrothed over ten years ago.'
'If this is some sort of trick, Sylvain–'
'I'm not lying!'
They debated the topic until Sylvain was interrupted by some matter in the Southern Palace, and Marinel scowled darkly to himself as he paced atop the battlements. After another fifteen minutes of trying to digest the impossible news–Roshaun, married? Never!–he stopped short, his thoughts scattering haphazardly through his mind as a new idea occurred to him. Roshaun, if whatever source Sylvain had gotten the news from was correct, was marrying a princess that had shown up suddenly. There were only four princesses of the planets left; he knew where the Moon Queen and the Outer Queens were being held. No sane woman would have given herself willingly to the King of Earth given their circumstances, but this one was clever enough to know that if Roshaun had to marry her, she would be granted some sort of immunity. Marinel wondered if the king was planning to let her live. Still, as far as he knew, he wasn't engaged to any princess. It seemed that they had been separated, and only one had shown herself. The others would not be attracting attention to themselves, not if they could help it.
Their destination must be Pluto. Or, they could be stupid or desperate enough to try to save the Queen of the Moon and the others locked up with her. At any rate, the remaining three princesses would have placed themselves in prime positions to siphon news about the queen or to find a way to the only safe haven available to them. Three missing princesses. Three mysterious women that had appeared: one in the forest from which lights had emanated the night the Moon Kingdom had fallen, the other two the next day–one in the ice fields, one in the desert. All the pieces fell together now, and Marinel felt like an idiot for not realizing it earlier. The concept, such coincidence, had been so unlikely that his mind had refused to even consider it.
He began to ponder over the three women he had healed. What had thrown him off was how different than he had seemed, but now he knew better. Their inner selves held similarities that he had not realized before. They all had possessed a sort of inborn dignity, steel resolve, and courage. Supreme courage. He looked down once more, and he was shocked when his eyes met Meriel's ocean-blue ones.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Over dinner that night, he kept watching her, and his suspicions seemed to be confirmed. This was no ordinary woman. She was the Queen of Mercury. And he had no idea what to do about it. He sighed. Because of what he found out, he suddenly viewed Meriel in a whole new light, and he found that he could no longer be as objective as before. She was beautiful, of course, and the delicate fragility of her slim form remained. However, all and any doubts Marinel had originally held about her courage and intelligence had fled. She was brilliant–either that or he was being stupider than ever. It was probably a little of both. She was the bravest woman–no, bravest person–that he knew. His admiration of her had tripled, and he found himself intrigued by the many layers and depth she had to character. He told himself that wasn't turning her over to the king merely because he wanted to fully assess the threat. Given time, he might discover some of the secrets she held or where the other princesses were.
Marinel sighed. He knew where all the other princesses were, and he was lying to himself, something he could never do for long. Had the king appeared before him at the moment, demanding to know the whereabouts of the Mercurian princess, he would lie without a qualm. However, he felt unsettled. Already, this indefinable pull to the aura of mystery that lingered around Meriel had formed, and he was beginning to think himself attracted to her, which was a dangerous thing. Perhaps it was just her physical beauty that drew him. Or it could be her unprecedented mind. It could be her unsurpassed courage. And then again, it could just be because he couldn't have her. Such a thing would never have worked out. And yet, his mind drifted back to the news of Roshaun's upcoming marriage.
The King-General gazed moodily into his food, ignoring the questioning glances from both the ambassador and Meriel–who were dining with him, of course. His standards for himself were extremely high, and they were only slightly lower for anyone other than himself. No woman had ever been able to stand those demands for long, and he had long given up hope of finding the perfect woman. He had been hurt so many times before by those who could not accept his nature that he had closed himself off entirely to the world. His past had not helped him in these matters, either. Marinel's strict, unloving father was dead, having died on Mercury–a sardonic smile curved his mouth–and his troops had revenged themselves upon the royal family...Meriel's family. Surely she knew what had happened to him, for Mercury had fallen before the Moon.
Again, Marinel wondered how she shoulders had withstood that crushing burden so well. She looked as though she was merely recovering from a physical illness that was not too serious. And yet, he remembered what one of the servants had told him that afternoon: the lady had not been sleeping well, and she was often restless. Most often, she disappeared into the library and did not emerge until well past midnight. Perhaps he would pay her a visit.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Meriel's brow furrowed slightly as her hands passed over the spines of the books in a pensive gesture. Her lips were pursed as she considered the titles. For once, she was unable to seek solace in the land of knowledge...and the land of unreality. She had been studying tomes of science, mathematics, and Terran history, but there had also been a section of fictional books that had drawn and captivated her attention. She would come down each night to immerse herself in the pages upon pages of words, carefully copied by scribes–nothing but the best for the King-Generals, she reminded herself.
Tonight was different than the others, when her mind had taken happily to a retreat of sorts. She couldn't bear being cooped up in this palace, reverting to a lifestyle so much like the one she had led on the Moon. In fact, her schedule two weeks ago had been remarkably similar to the one she followed now. Meriel was normally an extremely patient person. However, she was tired of staying in the Northern Palace. She was tired of entertaining the ambassador. She was tired of having to deal with Marinel's constant suspicion and the watch he set over her. What she wanted was to be able to find her friends...and yet, Meriel was able to recognize how profitable the position she was in could be. While she had been talking to the ambassador, she had been trying to glean news of the queen's whereabouts.
Her thoughts kept jumping back to dinner that night. As usual, she had made small-talk with the ambassador, even though his nasal voice and unsubtle personality was grating on her nerves. However, she had felt the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, and each time she looked up, she met level green eyes. And each time she flushed and looked away immediately. It was fortunate that the ambassador was not a very intelligent man. Or perhaps he was just unobservant. Marinel was at the center of her problems. The more she saw of him, the more she liked the person he was–no matter how formal and closed he tried to be, aspects of a living personality shone through. She was even willing to disregard his brash words to her when he had spoken to her for the first time–aloud.
Meriel had been careful to avoid him because of his lasting suspicion. She knew he didn't trust her completely; she didn't trust him with her identity. He was just too smart. Her friends had always bet that she would never meet her mental match, but it seemed that they had been wrong. Only now, it didn't matter in quite the romantic way they'd been discussing in. If he managed to figure out that she was one of the missing Inner Princesses, she would be doomed. He was a King-General, and his loyalty was to the King and throne of Earth. There was more to the situation than his brains, although they presented the most immediate problem.
Ever since he had carried her up the stairs–forcibly, despite her embarrassment and protests–she had wondered what it would be like to be in his arms again. He had felt so warm to her, so comforting, and so solid. Meriel had always needed support when she had been a child, when she had been growing up into a young woman. She had found her escape in knowledge and fantasy when she could not draw upon her friends' strength. Now, more than ever, she needed to drawn on someone's reliable strength, but she knew it could not be Marinel's. She was too desperate, and to stay alive in the harsh world she had been introduced to so suddenly, she had to remain as far away from him as possible, no matter how much she liked him. No matter if she was beginning to feel attracted to him, no matter if a jolt of electricity ran through her as easily as it was conducted by water every time her eyes met his. And speak of the devil...
Seeing that he had her attention, Marinel nodded cordially. Judging from the relaxed way he leaned against one of the two bookshelves that hemmed them in a narrow corridor, he had been there for quite some time.
She jumped, then backed away from him nervously. "I'm sorry–I didn't see you here."
"Good evening." His voice and manner seemed less sharp than usual. What Meriel was unaware of was that she was the cause of it. While she had been lost in thought–about him–he had watched her, feeling pained when he noticed the grievous expression on her face.
Shyly, she repeated the greeting, still sidling away.
He pursued her relentlessly, and although he would not have looked threatening to an onlooker, she was petrified. "I was recently notified of your nightly visits to the library. You do, of course, have access to it whenever you wish. However, I'd rather you spent your nights replenishing your sleep."
"I find it hard to fall asleep."
He raised his eyebrows. "Are you really? You've been so busy during the day that I thought it would have been easier for you to sleep. Spending so much time with the king's envoy must be tiring for you."
Meriel lifted her head slightly, staring at him. His face remained impassive, but his eyes held a spark of humor. Deciding to try and bring it out, she stopped backing away from him and replied, "Actually, it is rather exhausting to have him talking at you constantly. I've never met someone like him before."
The corners of his mouth twitched, but he remained unsmiling. "Truthfully? Unfortunately, I have. They're all just like him."
"And how would you describe them?"
"Ambitious, boot-licking, boring, and completely transparent," he reeled off without the slightest change in expression.
Meriel, however, laughed in delight. "You're an excellent judge of character, your highness."
He had begun to relax enough to smile, but he frowned at that. "Aren't you supposed to call me by my name? Unless, of course, you've forgotten it."
"No, I–"
"Since we haven't had the opportunity to talk much," he finished deliberately.
The dark-haired woman flushed, and she looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you wanted to speak to me. Any time, then, if you'd like to have a word, I'll oblige you. It would be nice if you were considerate enough to seek me out when I'm with that annoying envoy, of course."
Marinel allowed himself to smirk slightly. He had gained the upper hand, and she was showing him more of her extremely complex character. "Tomorrow." She blinked perplexedly, and he clarified, "I want to teleport to the docks to check how things are going there. It's part of state business and all that. Come with me."
"I'd be glad to...but...aren't the docks far away from here?" she inquired, with a bemused glance at the windows, where the peaks of snow-capped mountains could be seen.
"I thought I'd introduce you to teleportation." He watched her carefully to gauge her expression but noted nothing but polite interest. She was very, very clever. His respect rose another notch. "Actually, the business at the docks is not so urgent. It's strange, but I find it relaxing to work for a few hours by the sea, helping to haul crates and such. I've been down there before without entourage, and the usual workers who help to load and unload the incoming ships will recognize me–not as a general, of course, but a wanderer who turns up every so often, like a bad penny."
She smiled brightly at him. "It sounds wonderful. I've always liked being near the water."
"Then I'll meet you tomorrow morning, at dawn. The ships will set out then, and not too many people will be there. Do you still want to come?" he asked with a teasing smile. When she nodded, he replied, "Then go to sleep." She wrinkled her nose at him and left, leaving him the impression of an otherworldly sprite, of whose presence he could not be sure of. She was so confusing, had so many aspects to her personality, that he couldn't identify her with the polite hostess who had come to be accepted as his sister. Marinel sighed and departed for bed himself, preparing to think on the matter in his chambers. To his surprise, he was able to fall asleep quickly, with a restful, peaceable look upon his face.
~*~ Falling in Love With Love ~*~
Kiora rested her hands on the cool stone before her. An elaborate set of rooms had been assigned to her, and the balcony she stood upon had a nice view of Elysion. It glowed rosy-pink in the sun's dying light, but she was too troubled to admire the landscape. Once she had bathed and was attired fitting her rank, there was no chance of mistaking her for anyone except the woman in the portrait of herself and the other Inner Princesses the king had recovered from the Moon Palace. She was upset–although she had no right to be. With all the fuss over the coming wedding, Annamika had been overlooked. She had a small room adjourning Kiora's, and she was safe–for the moment. They were both moderately safe...as long as she was marrying Roshaun.
That required her to act civil towards him, which was a difficult task for her. Not only did she consider him a lying, cowardly, deceptive man, she really had no idea what to expect from him. She didn't know him. She had never known him. And she didn't want to make the effort to. All she wanted as to survive, for the time being, and to get Annamika to Pluto somehow. If Kiora displeased him in any way, he would have the excuse to break off their engagement, and she knew the king would be too happy to oblige. She had seen, in his eyes, that he wanted the threat she posed out of the way. Had Roshaun not agreed to the whole affair, she would probably be in the dungeons right now instead of in a fancy gown, surrounded by fine things and beauty. She still couldn't figure out why he had saved her.
A spark of excitement ran through her: Kiora had found out, rather quickly, where the queen and the Outers were being held. To see them, all she would have to do was sneak through the palace at night, all the way down to the dungeons, and past a platoon of guards. It couldn't be that hard, she told herself. But it was. When Kiora looked in the mirror, she saw a different person than she had seen when she had looked in the mirror so many times before, in a different life. Her eyes were older, and there were faint scars on her face and neck. When she smiled, the light was still there, but it was dampened somewhat. She was no longer oblivious to the harsh realities of life. She had been torn from a pampered life, where she had known nothing but luxury and some duty–but only that which befit a princess. The hardest things she had had to endure was separation from her family, occasional spats with her friends, and minor weapons training. Then the news about her family had came.
Kiora had not had time to grieve before her meager skills had been called upon to protect the princess. She had talent with a sword, but because she was who she was, she hadn't been trained well. None of them had been. And now, Kiora still didn't have the time to think about what she had lost. That guileless, carelessly-given smile was gone. Her perfect world had shattered. And if she wept, everything would be lost. A knock sounded on the door, and she gave its reflection in the large looking-glass a considering look. Tilting her chin up slightly, Kiora studied the arrogance it gave to her features and straightened her shoulders with a deep breath.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Roshaun stood stiffly and silently–as he usually did. Court functions never ceased to bore him. he spoke when spoken to and danced when asked. Most of the time, he tried to blend into the crowd (although he was a foot taller than every other man present, and his silvery hair acted like a beacon) and watched the dancers–or one dancer. He was having a hard time understanding Kiora. Roshaun was pretty sure she hated him. Except...every time she had spoken to him in the palace, she had been all bright smiles and cordial words. He could admire her from a distance: she circulated the room, conversing with ease, an engaging, rapt expression on her face. She was charming, and very few in the packed ballroom had not been won over. Despite her success, however, Roshaun saw that she tiring.
He couldn't imagine what it must be like for her: she was trapped in a roomful of people, forced to smile, laugh, dance, and talk with them. She could trust no one, and they all harbored ill-sentiment towards her. She also had no allies, as she knew no one besides him and the king, and she didn't know a thing about Terran politics and their leaders–and yet, Kiora had been able ti pick them out effortlessly and talk with knowledge of their affairs. Roshaun shook his head and quickly withdrew his foot a few inches, lest an enthusiastic lady's heel crush it. As the song ended, he excused himself with a bland smile to the count he had been mindlessly conversing with and made his way over to his betrothed. Roshaun still couldn't mask his inward surprise when he thought about those words. His betrothed. And yet...he secretly admitted that he liked the idea, as he looked upon her.
Kiora had felt his eyes on her the entire night, and although she had felt tense and annoyed, she had seen the admiration in his eyes and felt flattered despite herself. When he approached, she turned, still smiling politely.
"Good evening, gentlemen. If I could steal my intended for the next dance?"
Of course, they could not protest, and Kiora placed her hand in his readily, feeling nervous. "My lord."
He acknowledged her with a sardonic smile and a half-bow. "Kiora." The first notes of the dance trembled delicately in the air, and they began the steps. "You dance very well."
"Thank you. but these dances are no so much different than those I already know."
She said the words without any hesitation, and he suspected that she had already said the same words several times that night. "I see. And are you enjoying yourself?"
"Of course." Kiora tried to make herself relax, but she couldn't. As long as he was near her, and especially when his hands were on her, her body tingled from the closeness. She told herself that she couldn't possibly be attracted to him–but she was.
Roshaun was feeling much the same as her long, sunlit hair drifted over his hands. "You don't have to lie to me."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't I?"
"No."
After a few minutes of silence, Kiora felt the numerous pairs of curious eyes fixed upon them–especially the king's. "Tell me about yourself. We don't really know anything about each other, and I'd like to remedy the situation."
The Northern King-General smiled faintly. "There isn't much to say. I'm silent and still as stone, unsociable, dictatorial, demanding, arrogant, and I have absolutely no tolerance for anyone's shortcomings, let alone my own. Basically, I'm completely inhuman."
She laughed, a genuine laugh, before she stopped herself. She had to remember that he was an enemy and that one false step could land her in the dungeons. It was like walking across a tiled floor–one never knew which misstep would send them hurtling through a trap door. The only that was preventing that at the moment was Roshaun, and she wanted to know why. But she would have to be smart, smarter than she had ever needed to be, and cautious. "You've told me what people say about you," she observed levelly, "why don't you tell me what you think about yourself?"
"Very perceptive of you. All right. I'm a simple man–I despise needless bloodshed and cruelty. I don't like breaking promises when I've given my word." Her eyes flashed alarmingly, and he continued quickly. "Possibly the only people I care about in this world are the prince, Marinel, Pyralis, and Sylvain."
"And they would be the other King-Generals?" she guessed.
"Yes. I trained them all, and they are closer to me than anyone else could possibly understand."
Kiora bit her lip and remained silent.
He continued, "I haven't seen them recently. It's unsettling. Sylvain and Pyralis are in their respective homes, since no situations that require our services have arisen. They're managing the affairs of the South and the East."
"What about your home?"
"Marinel–the Western King-General–currently resides there. Because it's so remote, the North has always been one of the easiest–and hardest–places to conquer."
She smiled ironically. "Because of its location, it's hard to get to. And yet, anyone who could get there with a large enough portion of their army intact would have a pretty easy time taking over if you're here, in Elysion. If he's in the North, who is in the West?"
Roshaun sighed and shrugged. "His chamberlains, I guess. It's been a while since I've talked to them. I don't even know what's happened to them the past few days. Of course, nothing major could have occurred–the king would have heard of that."
"I think...as long as you feel them in your heart, they're fine."
He eyed her astutely and asked, "Do you feel the same way about the Inner Princesses?"
"Yes."
"What is your relationship with them like?"
Kiora's tone and eyes grew frosty as she replied, "It's much the same as yours. If you'll forgive me, I'd rather not discuss them."
"I'm sorry. I'd forgotten that they were...deceased." He made a mental note that she had talked of them as if they were still alive. He had not believed her when she had told the king. But, among her many qualities and talents, she was an excellent actress.
The song ended, and he would have let her return to her previous companions, but she said, "If it wouldn't inconvenience you, may I suggest another dance?"
He bowed elegantly. "As you wish. Although I'm rather curious about the reasoning behind your request. I keep getting the feeling that you don't entirely trust me, Kiora."
"If you were in my position–would you? I trust no one. I'll stop putting on the show for you, since you think yourself so perceptive. Why are you agreeing to this?" He just looked at her questioningly, and Kiora sighed. "You know what I'm talking about, Kunzite. Why did you agree to marry me?"
"We're betrothed. I'm bound to it."
"You aren't fooling me with any of that. You broke the promise you made to me the same day that treaty was forged, and you couldn't care less."
"On the contrary. I feel very badly about it. But you don't seem to understand that I do feel guilty. And yet, I made the promise to you when we were both young. You know how the hierarchy on Earth works now. As the son of the Northern King-General, as my father was alive before and during the fall of the planets, I didn't have much say in what the king commanded. I was one man struggling against prejudice, paranoia, and hysteria. You should be lucky that I'm alive to keep you from getting your head chopped off."
Angrily, she demanded, "So you think I should be thanking you for that?"
"I don't think you understand the situation. We both know you're reasonably smart by now. You're desperate–otherwise, you wouldn't be hanging on to that petty promise. Would you use some sense and let it go? You have more important things to worry about. I'm more occupied with keeping your pretty head attached to your neck."
Kiora glared at him, ignoring the curious spectators. "Well, thank you for dedicating some of your precious time to my problems, your highness. I'm so honored by your attention."
"See? There you go again. You have some–very little–right to be angry with me, and yet, whenever you drop the facade, I'm always on the receiving end of your anger."
"It's your fault for provoking me!"
"No, it isn't!" he protested.
"Yes, it is!" she insisted. Suddenly, she dropped her hands from his shoulders to cover her mouth and laughed helplessly.
Mystified, Roshaun inquired, "Pardon my error, but am I missing something here? Was it something I said?"
"No–yes. I was just remembering the last time I acted so...childish." Before he could scowl, Kiora added softly, "It was on the Moon, with my friends. Before...things changed. I'm sorry–I need some air."
He caught her arm as she tried to reach the nearest balcony and supported her as waves of memories assaulted her.
She managed to keep her gaze straight and focused as they made their way over the balcony. Thankfully, it was empty, and they were concealed from the prying eyes of the populace by heavy curtains. She leaned over the railing, trying to catch her breath. She was determined not to cry–especially in front of him. And yet, she wanted so badly to be able grieve for her friends, her family, her shattered dreams, her broken life.
"Mina."
Instantly, she raised her head to look at him. The sound of her name, which no one had addressed her by for what seemed to be an eternity, dissolved her into quiet tears. She cried without reservation, because she saw compassion and empathy in his eyes. She didn't even protest when he gathered her carefully into his arms, and he made no comment as his shoulder became slightly damp.
When she finally regained her composure, they returned to the loud room of revelry and chatter. No words had been exchanged, but they had silently agreed that he would not mention the incident if she no longer acted antagonistic towards him because of his broken promise. They weren't friends. They weren't in love. But they had accepted the workings of fate–and each other.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
AN: In which all the generals do a lot of musing and nothing much gets accomplished...and Zoi finally figures out the obvious. Yay. Now what does he do about it? Something stupid, of course. ^.~ I'm so sorry it took a horrendously long time for this to get out . Sorry!! I had a bad time with the last section, which I rewrote three times (twice during school, which may have accounted for the mess-ups). Hopefully Chapter 6 will take me less time. I hope the plotline's going all right so far and not too much OOC-ness...right? ^^;
~Ice