Disclaimer:  Final Fantasy VIII is the property of Squaresoft.

Author's Note:  Another short chapter, this one from Rinoa's POV.  They should start getting better after chapter three.  And you'll have to be patient with me; it may take me awhile to update at times.

AGAINST THE ODDS

Chapter Two

A Queen in Chains

With an angry wave of her hands, Rinoa dismissed the servants.  She'd grown up with at least one maid in her home that had been happy to help whenever she was needed, but this army of women whose whole purpose in life was to help Rinoa dress and take care of her was too much for her.  She didn't need three others to change into a nightgown, dammit!

The women ignored her, finishing their rounds of the already immaculate room before finally leaving her.  Alone at last, Rinoa paced the room, her footsteps swallowed by the deep blue carpet.  She didn't think she'd get any sleep that night, not after her trip to the battle lines.  The long rows of wounded soldiers had torn at her, and she'd wanted to weep.  She'd seen death and wounds in the aftermath of battles, but not at this scale.  And the SeeDs had always Cured the wounded, friend or foe.  She'd never smelled the stench of blood and opened bowels and infection before, and it had made her lose her lunch.

But it had been worth it.  More soldiers had survived this fight than any previous, even if that man – her husband – didn't think she should go anywhere near the wounded.

Her husband.  She gave a derisive snort as raised her hands so the moonlight caught the wedding 'gifts' he had given her so many months before.  They were beautiful, she had to admit, elaborately carved and bedecked with a fortune of gem stones.  The matching bracelets were snug on her wrists, and she was unable to slide them further up her arm or down over her hands.  She flipped her hands, revealing the ring hanging beneath each bracelet.  Or rather, each manacle.  Beautiful they may have been, but her husband had shown her the chains that went with them, the bindings he wasn't afraid to use on his 'beloved' if she didn't go along with their marriage.  She wasn't his queen; she was his captive. 

The room suddenly seemed to close in on her, despite its size and opulence, it suddenly seemed to her like the prison it was, and she hurried to the stained glass doors that led out to the balcony.  Air… she needed air! 

Even the night air was stifling.  Heavy with the smells of the city below with its factories, it was nothing like the fresh air she'd breathed on the balcony at Garden.  The city's harsh angles and bright lights were painful to her eyes, and she thought longingly of Balamb Garden's smooth, flowing curves that softened its military atmosphere. 

She leaned over the edge of the railing, looking straight down.  The height was dizzying, and she nearly lost her balance.  She caught herself and took a step back, as she had every other time the possibility of plunging to her death had occurred to her.  I'm such a coward.  That's all it would take for me to be free…  just a fall, and there'd be no more pain.  They say falling doesn't hurt…  so why can't I do it?  Why can't I kill myself?

She knew the answer to that:  Hope.   While she knew that Squall was likely to be dead, something within her refused to accept that he wasn't out there, somewhere.  Perhaps waiting for her, as he'd once promised.  So long as the possibility existed, no matter how slim, that Squall might be out there alive somewhere, she had to hang on to life. 

It was hard… so hard to persuade herself to live.  Ever since she'd awoken, Zell's blood soaked into her clothing, her life had been one nightmare after another.  They'd pulled her out of the Ragnarok's wreckage, the faceless men in the unfamiliar uniforms.  She'd begged them to let her go back and search for her beloved, but they had ignored her pleas, silently taking her to a military hospital where she'd been questioned mercilessly about where she was from, and where the ship had come from.  When they wouldn't stop, she'd snapped and used magic to escape.

Or tried to.  The sorcerous energies she'd worked so hard to develop hadn't been there.  The power had been gone, leaving a gaping void.  There'd been nothing there.  Nothing.  She'd been completely at the mercy of these strange people who hadn't believed she knew little about the Ragnarok.  And they hadn't believed that she wasn't even from their continent.  They'd been planning to lock her up for her lack of cooperation

Until Andor came along.  The handsome king had taken to her, attracted to her beauty.  Rinoa had mistrusted him immediately.  But… he'd offered her freedom.  The choice had been either a lifetime of imprisonment, with periodic questioning by the uncaring military, or life with a king.  Only one left her free to search for Squall – or so she'd thought.  Her husband was a crueler captor than any soldier.

Running away wasn't an option.  Even if she could escape the palace with its many guards, where would she go?  She'd search for Squall – the whole continent, if need be – but she had no idea where to begin.  And, if he truly was dead, it would be all for nothing.  And she had no idea how to return home, to Balamb.  While a boat would eventually get her there, she'd need something sturdy, with a crew familiar who knew how to navigate the ocean and would be willing to attempt a voyage into uncharted waters with a passenger being sought by the king…  And what if her escape brought Andor's attention to her home continent?  What if he tried to invade her homeland?  He was hungry for power, and once he had this entire continent under control, he'd have many resources at his disposal.  It was possible he could overwhelm Rinoa's much smaller homeland. 

A soft step was all the warning she had, and she schooled her face into the expressionless mask she wore whenever in the presence of her husband.  She turned to face him, eyes carefully lowered so as not to meet his.  He liked his women submissive.  "My husband," she greeted softly, keeping her tone neutral.  The words were still bitter on her tongue, even after so many months.  Why, oh why, hadn't she chosen to stay in the military prison?

"Beloved," he said, the words as false as his smile.  Andor, she knew, loved nothing but his power.  "I hear you had a difficult time today with the wounded.  I told you that you should not have gone."  His reproving tone made her wince.  She'd learned the price of his disapproval.  He seldom hurt her, but the threat was there, and she knew he would carry it out, without hesitation.

But instead of the expected blow, he put his arms around her.  She held in the shudder, though her skin crawled at the intimacy.  His touch was something to be endured if she wanted to survive to find Squall.  And like it or not, he really was her only chance…  "You must be careful," he said, sliding his hands lower until the caressed her abdomen.  "I don't want any harm to come to my heir.  What if one of those soldiers had gotten violent?  What if I lost you?"

Rinoa sucked in a breath.  His heir…  The child was barely visible at this stage, but she knew Andor had a point.  If she lost his heir through carelessness, he'd kill her.  While she was nothing more to him than a pretty trophy wife, exotic for being a foreigner, his heir was important to him.

"There were none there well enough to stand, much less hurt me," Rinoa said quietly.  "And many lives were saved.  Don't worry; I wouldn't risk our child."  That was true; much as Rinoa wished the child inside her was Squall's, she'd never endanger the innocent life.  Yet, she wondered what Squall would say if he were here, if he knew what she was doing to find him.  Would he agree with many of the others at Balamb that she was just a Galbadian slut after all?

It wouldn't matter, Rinoa told herself harshly, as long as he was alive to hate her.  She could bear that, couldn't she?

Andor had turned from her and was staring out at his city, as she had been only moments before.  Unlike her, he approved of what he saw.  He loved his technology almost as much as he loved his power; the coveted secret of the Ragnarok and its builders was another reason he kept her around, though Rinoa feigned a partial loss of memory.  He was waiting for her to reveal her homeland's secrets.  He'd never get them from her, she vowed. 

"Yes," Andor said after a moment.  "Lives were indeed saved by your miraculous medicines.  If only you remembered how to make more marvels like it."  Rinoa stayed silent, regretting her decision to reveal how to make a simple Potion to these people, though it had healed many people who may have otherwise died.  But it was worth it, Rinoa told herself, even if it did lead Andor to suspect she knew more than she was revealing.    "In fact," Andor went on, "I'd like to present you to the common soldiers as their savior, to show them what they're fighting for.  And," for a moment, there was actual pride in his voice for something that had nothing to do with his power, "I want to announce that I'm to have an heir."

It was nothing more than a propaganda trick, Rinoa knew.  By showing off his pregnant queen, whose skills had saved so many, the soldiers would be reminded of their sense of duty not just to the king, but to their queen as well.  It bothered her that more people would fight for her than for Andor.  It was worse that Andor knew it and would use it to his advantage. 

But there was nothing she could say in protest.  "Whatever you wish, my husband," Rinoa said.  She stared out over the city beside the king, wishing she could be with the one who had never treated her as an object, the one who she'd loved so deeply and couldn't, couldn't, be dead.

To Be Continued…