"What do you think?"
He stared, entranced, at the picture they made. She was an ice princess. Silvery blonde hair was twisted out of sight into a neat pleat, a few curls tumbling loose. Her bright blue eyes shone with deceptive innocence. He knew those eyes had seen more than he dared think about.
His own blue eyes were drawn to his figure. He knew he was handsome; the many girls he had courted told him so. But his appearance seemed somehow... incomplete. The picture didn't show the hunger ever present in his eyes, the faraway expression his face would often form, the restlessness in his pose.
The picture didn't show any of these because it was a betrothal portrait. The longing was not for her, he had finished with the princess seated beside him. The expression was not for her either, he knew too much of what lay behind the frozen exterior. He yearned for another, altogether different person. Somebody who had temperamental fire coursing through her veins, not slow, deliberate ice. A person who he would never, could never tire of, as he had already tired of his betrothed. A person who would never be considered for the title of 'Queen'. A person who made him unable to consider any other.
"Do you like it, your Highness?" There was a touch of impatience in the artist's tone. Perhaps he thought Jonathan had spent too long looking upon the face of his "beloved". In truth, the reverse was applicable; Jonathan had heard his future wife had offered a closer inspection of her body for a favourable replica. She was beautiful, true, enticing, bewitching... But fake. Conniving. Manipulative. Deceitful. Hardly his beloved.
His beloved.
The picture blurred. Instead of a calm blue, the eyes of his picture companion were purple. Red hair was ruffled not perfectly combed, her skin was lightly tanned instead of deathly pale. He yearned to hold that hand, to press his lips to hers, to make her his.
For she was not his. His own painted face transformed. He looked thinner, older. Brown hair, in need of a cutting, flopped into his eyes, kind, hazel and twinkling.
Jonathan clenched his fist by his side. She wasn't George Cooper's either. He conjured up an image of this mysterious Shang Dragon. By past preference, his hair was dark. He grinned mischievously at the Prince, flirtatious, yet friendly.
Flirtatious. Flirting with his Alanna.
"Does his highness not find it an excellent likeness?" inquired a new voice.
Jonathan, with difficulty, tore his eyes from the painting. Josiane. His Josiane. His because she willed it, because his mother willed it, and because Alanna had rejected him. His cheeks still burned as he thought of the desert scene.
"Yes, of course," he replied, giving the painter - whose attention was fixed on the Copper Isles princess like a moth to a flame - a smile. "Wonderful. Mother will be pleased."
A frown knit her pale brows ever so slightly. "Your mother isn't the one I'm marrying," she pointed out with a smile.
Jonathan considered this to be oddly ironic, since it was because of his mother that he was marrying the Copper Islander anyway.
Partly. Some small bit of him hoped Alanna would hear of his betrothal and return to claim him. That bit shrank with the disappointment of getting through every day without her face, every day without her presence in the Bazhir ritual.
"How very true-" he swallowed tightly, reminding himself of the Shang Dragon, before adding the affectionate, "my dear."
She giggled and placed a hand on his arm. "Come, I want you to see my dress."
Resigned, the future King of Tortall put aside all thoughts of the Lioness and went to follow his future Queen.
Jonathan glanced up at the redheaded knight. Alanna sighed and offered him a tight smile, apparently unaware how much he ached to take her into his arms.
"You hate me," he said softly, feeling it needed to be said, to relieve this unbearable tension between them. She had returned two months back, and this was only the second time she'd allowed them to be alone together.
She flinched. "No. Never." She began examining her calloused palms in earnest as he waited expectantly for the unsaid 'but'. "Jon, I hate her. Please-" She stopped herself just in time. "Look, the poison was her, I know it! Why wait for the spies? You have to take action before she manages to kill you!"
She had a point.
Since he had become King unofficially, accidents had begun to happen. Accidents and assassination attempts, that was. Knives thrown, snakes in his bed, and more poison than he cared to remember. They were awaiting the response to the identity of the person thought to have prepared the wine that evening. The latest attempt on his life. He was actually fortunate that the Copper Island assassins were so poor at their profession.
His eyes travelled back to Alanna. Shadows flickered over her face, dimly illuminated by the candlelight. She looked far older than she had when she'd been his. He was now resigned to the fact that she wasn't his, and had even begun to consider her extraordinarily attractive travelling companion in brief fantasies about single life. Marriage was far more trouble than he had ever given it credit for.
"Your Majesty." The man bowed as he entered. "It is the belief of both myself and my colleagues that a Mister Nalur Zivon tended to your drinks this evening."
Alanna's eyes shot to his. He could almost read her thoughts. Nalur Zivon. It was a Copper Island name.
"Thank you, Sebastian," he said wearily, rubbing his temples. At least she hadn't persuaded Tortallans yet.
"Nalur Zivon is in the employ of her Royal Majesty. Perhaps the Queen would do better to choose her servants more wisely in the future." Sebastian bowed once more, awaiting further instruction. He just wished he could give it with a clear conscience. Was this all it was to be King? Worry about being killed, and order others' deaths before your own came?
"By the gods, Jon, you have to stop her," Alanna snapped. "Or I'll stop her." Her hand shifted to where her dagger must lie.
For a fleeting second, Jonathan considered it. Then, he shook his head. He wanted her as his Champion, not his assassin. "Too obvious."
But that was Alanna all over. She never left actions or decisions to others. He had to, though. If their Princess died in secret, the Copper Isles would declare war on Tortall, and he could hardly kill her himself in public. She would have to die in front of their spies, by the same methods they had plotted for him. He dragged in a breath. It was time, time to say goodbye. He gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles turning white. "Sebastian, would you be so kind as to see if Sir Myles would be willing to part with a little of the gift we talked about earlier?"
Sebastian bowed once more and left the room.
Jonathan released the arms of his chair. Easy, too easy. He leaned back, examining the ceiling, knowing Josiane lay sleeping above him. "Goodbye, dearest Queen," he murmured softly.
Thanks for all the reviews! I'm extremely flattered, which should be a good thing :P I have put chapter two up as a separate story, 'Shadow of Doubts'.