Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 6.
He'd seen it the moment the man walked in, he told himself.
Yolane had risen to greet him, a smile on her soft red lips. He had kissed her hand, and a slight blush had graced that ivory-and-rose complexion. Tristan had come with messages from Carthak, and was staying to assist the mining. He'd known then, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that it was over.
Only he hadn't. He'd thought how charming the blush had been, and how unfailingly polite Tristan was. He'd seen how the mage's eyes followed his wife around the room, but had smirked at him, safe in the knowledge that Yolane would never return his affections.
Even when Yolane's maid came to him that night and informed him that her mistress was feeling unwell, and would go to bed early tonight, he had merely expressed his condolences and his hopes that she would be better the next morning.
She was, of course.
Yolane stayed with him during the nights for the next few weeks, but during the days he saw little of her, she spent so much time with Tristan. Then she began to cry off the nights, too, saying her nerves were not strong. He soothed her, calmed her, and soon she was herself again, laughing and bickering with Gissa and Alamid. She also spent less time with Tristan, and it seemed that a coldness had sprung up between them.
It was a few days later that he saw them.
He was taking a walk through the shrubbery when he heard a moan. Giving into curiosity, he put his head cautiously around the corner to see who it was.
At first he was amused, seeing only broad shoulders and the back of a brown-blond head. He was about to turn away and give Tristan and his friend some privacy. But then he heard a very familiar voice murmur breathlessly:
"Tristan – Tristan…"
"I'm sorry," he whispered back. "It just makes me angry – jealous – to think of him…I know you have to. And I'm sorry. I love you so much…"
"I love you, too."
He backed away and fled. It was not manly of him, he mused later, brooding over the scene. He should have stood his ground, challenged Tristan. But what could he, not even a knight, and certainly no sorcerer, do against the best war-mage in Carthak? At best, Ozorne would withdraw his support and Yolane would hate him, if she didn't already. At worst, he would be killed, and King Tristan would reign in his stead. Neither option was pleasant.
He wondered, now, what he would say if Yolane told him she was with child. Would he reject her, showing that he knew of the affair? Or would he smile and rejoice, playing the part of the cuckolded husband?
He looked down the table at Tristan, who was gazing at Yolane, a soft, loving smile apparent on his face. Hot anger flared within him, jealousy and hatred almost consuming him, before he forced it back.
"You look tired, my lady," he was saying, a suggestive tone in his voice.
Yolane stretched like a cat, almost purring. "I do need a rest," she admitted.
"May I escort you to your chambers?"
He shuddered at the thought, and tightened his grip on the wine glass.
"Certainly, Tristan."
He watched them go, arm in arm. And as they went, Tristan glanced back over his shoulder and looked directly at him.
Smirking.