Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 8.
It was an ordinary dinner. She sat at the foot of the table, Gissa at her right hand. Tristan sat next to Belden, engaging in a fairly one-sided conversation. She ate, trying not to notice the temperature of the food. The best way was to focus on Tristan. But that would be staring, and that was not only impolite and decidedly unroyal, but embarrassing, if Belden caught her. Which was unlikely, but one could never be too careful.
It was really quite difficult not to, she mused, toying with her bread. He was handsome, she'd known that from the day he'd come to the castle with messages from Ozorne. She hadn't slept in her own room that night.
Belden didn't know, or, if he did, didn't care. The thought of the latter option irked her, a little. It wasn't that she exactly wanted to see him hurt, physically or emotionally, but it would be nice to think that he hadn't just married her for Dunlath – not that he had, she had been the court belle then, and she knew she was still beautiful. Tristan hated it when she spent the night with her husband, even knowing it was only for appearances.
She looked down the table, and her eyes met Tristan's. He smiled at her, a slow, meaningful smile. She lowered her eyes and felt the corners of her mouth turn up in response.
"You look tired, my lady," he said with false concern.
"I do need a rest," she replied, faking a yawn behind her hand.
"May I escort you to your chambers?"
"I would be delighted, Tristan."
They left, arm in arm.
Neither of them saw Belden gazing after them, impotent fury in his face.