Disclaimer: Ok...plot and a few characters are mine. But the overall universe is unfortunately not mine, but Tamora Pierce's.
Title: Ghost of the Past
Author: winky-wink
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama
Rating: T (Just to be safe)
Pairing: A/J...it fits with the time setting.
Musical Affection: 'Ode to Indian Girls' by Rakesh.
Author's Note:epobbp: You know why that hasn't happened? Because I'm stupid lol...haha I never thought of it but it's true. Hmm...I'll definitely keep that in mind from now one, you smarty-pants.
iluvsinging333: Thanks. ((blushes)) Haha, I try.
Queen Alanna of conte: Me either and yeah, it's really really wrong. And thank you.
charlie and lola: Wow, thanks. That's nice of you. And is Alanna going to actually marry Roger? You'll just have to wait and see.
Lady Knight: He probably wouldn't have gotten it if he hadn't cured the Queen. And thanks too.
WitchyMage: Hey thanks! Roald gave permission he otherwise wouldn't have given because he told Roger he'd give him anything for curing Lianne. Alanna couldn't say no because Lord Cobalt would go crazy if he heard that his daughter had said no. Olden days, unfortunately, where girls have little say in these matters. Wrong, I know. Thank god the times have changed.
lutefa: LOL...good for you! Roger is very intelligent. Oo...war games? That actually sounds like fun. You did this while I was playing with my Barbie haha. Yeah she is engaged, whatta shocker. She sort of had to take it because Abigail, who's part she's playing, is probably going to have to marry Roger. Or so she thinks. Btw, I love roses too. Especially white ones.
Silveni: Lol, yup. I don't like Roger of Conte either. And that's fine. Hmm, I know very little about bethrothals, sorry about messing it up! But I'll just keep it that way so it's convenient for me lol.
Confusedknight: Thank you. I know, I love Arram (precious Numair) too. And yeah, it does mean Abby is engaged. Haha, eight months..hmm, we'll see right?
FanFictionFanthom: Thanks a bunch. I hope I keep it up.
Rosemary's Granddaughter: Haha, intends to marry you? Hmm...that might just be the plot twist I'm looking for. Yup, Lincoln is always loaded with weapons. LOL...and I'll consider your plot points.
elsepthana: I know, it's crazy. Lol, and the ending is going to be equally crazy.
Saphron: Wow, thanks a lot. I'm glad you think I did it so well. It's really complicated though but fun all the same.
Kokari: Sorry, haha. I know I'm horrible when it comes to cliffhangers. Anyways, I hope this settles you for a bit.
Angel of Dream: That's ok. And thank you. Oh and I'll try to take your advice to heart. Thanks for pointing that out.
As a last note, I just wanted to say that this story will slowly start its official wind down. It's not that I don't like it anymore, but haven't you noticed the ending start to poke through? Anyways, it's still going to be a few more chapters so no worries of a sudden ending. I'll tell you when it's coming.
'If you stop struggling, then you stop life'- Huey Newton
Clapping was still resounding in Alanna's ears as she felt Roger's hands on her shoulders, leading her out of the Ball Room. Immediately, Lincoln, Jon, Thom, Winfred and Abigail began to follow. As soon as they were out of the Ball Room, the Lioness shrugged the Duke of Conte's arms off her. Mithros, she felt so filthy. She couldn't believe she was actually engaged to Roger of Conte. It was a dirty feeling.
"Roger! Cousin Roger! What do you think you're doing?" Lincoln demanded, striding, agressively, towards his elder cousin.
"Lincoln, please! This is no place to make a scene," Winfred begged, holding a shaky hand on her forehead.
"A scene?" Lincoln's face so red, it looked like he would explode, "He's planning on marrying Ab-Alanna!"
"I don't know why you're so surprised," Roger rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, "You must've seen this coming. Lord Cobalt is boasting about this union all over Scanra."
"Listen," Jon's voice was surprisingly calm, "Let's go somewhere private? This is a family matter and I don't want all the court to hear it. How about you go discuss this in father's office? It's just near here."
Lincoln shook his head, shaggy hair waving, "This is crazy...oh, Mithros, just take us and let's get it over with."
"Wait. If this is a family matter, what are Alan of Trebond and that servingmaid doing here? Last time I checked, they weren't considered Conte," the Conte Duke turned up his nose, looking disdainful.
"They are now," Alanna said, boldly, "Alan and Abigail are with me."
Roger glared at her, the love he'd shown her in front of the masses of nobility gone. However, she managed to shut him up. Jonathan stared between them, then spun around and began leading the way to one of the King's offices. The hall was dimly lit, though beautifully decorated. Alanna kept near Thom, feeling as if he was the only one that could truely protect her for her, not for being Abigail.
As they passed regal portraits of ex-Kings and Queens, Alanna felt as if their eyes followed her, knowing all her secrets. She felt as if they all knew she was a liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. They taunted her, she shivered. She wasn't a liar. It wasn't her fault that she'd had to put up with this charade. And, originally, it had been rather light-hearted, just a mere joke. She never once imagined she'd end up engaged.
"Here we are," the Crown Prince said, halting in front of a handsomely carved wooden door. From his pocket he drew out a golden, laced, key. It was the one key gifted to the heir to the throne of Tortall and its sovereigns. It opened every single door in the Palace. Alanna noticed Roger watching it, eyes bright. She shifted her position so that she blocked his view of it. He'd have that key in his hands over her dead body.
Jonathan opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Everyone else entered, gingerly, after him. Only Roger strolled in, seemingly superior to the rest of them. Just as Abby was about to shut the door behind her, Faithful slinked in. Alanna was glad to see him and held out her hands to him. However, he went to Thom instead. At first, she was hurt. Then she realized that Faithful was Alan of Trebond's cat and she was most certainly not Alan of Trebond in this circumstance.
'There's a-brewing. And it's coming your way right now,' Faithful spoke so only Alanna heard.
Her Knightmaster, seeing the cat, sensed he'd given her a message. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Alanna quizically. She shook her head, decided to tell him later when Roger wasn't within hearing vicinity. The Duke of Conte noticed this suspicious exchange and regarded Faithful, oddly. He had never liked the feline. Unlike most other people and animals, this one didn't like him.
The Lady Squire breathed in, deeply, at her godly companion's warning. Why wasn't she surprised? She steeled herself. Whatever this new obstacle was, she'd jump over it like she did every other one.
"You still haven't answered my question, Roger," Lincoln leaned against the wall, not far from the desk Roger was sitting behind.
"Why, I love her, of course," the Conte Duke replied, trying to look oblivious and innocent.
"Don't lie to me!" Lincoln snapped, rushing forth, balling his hand into a fist. For one fearful moment Alanna and near everyone else thought he was about to punch his cousin. Instead he merely slammed his punch into the desk. Thom flinched, not enjoying the violence.
"Why are you so angry, dear Lincoln? Only good can come of this relationship. Imagine how good it'll be for you if your sister marries me," Roger clarified, straightening his doublet.
"Mother!" Lincoln cried, whipping around, "Say something!"
"Oh Lincoln, say what? You know how stubborn your father is sometimes," Winfred shrugged and for the first time Alanna noticed the grey bags of sleepless nights under the beautiful woman's eyes, "I'm tired of fighting, sweetheart."
"Tired? Abigail, are you going to take this?" Lincoln demanded, raising an eyebrow.
"I...I came here knowing what would happen, if that's what you mean. I cannot fight what must be," Abby shook her head.
Alanna couldn't believe what she was hearing. Winfred and Abigail were two of the strongest women she knew and here they were, crumbling under the pressure of one man. How bad could Lord Cobalt be anyways?
"I won't take it," the Lioness declared, standing up, taller.
"I never said you had to take it," Roger stood too, walking over to her, "I never said you had a choice. You will do as your betters have decided for you."
"I suppose that means I don't have to listen to you, doesn't it?" the Trebond's eyes and temper flared.
"When you're my wife, I'll snap that sass in half," the Duke of Conte threatened, grabbing her arm tightly. Alanna shoved him away, watching streaks of red from where he'd grabbed her fade, slowly.
"Don't you dare touch her!" Lincoln hollered, facing his cousin.
"Lincoln...," Jon tried to mediate, rubbing the side of his eyes.
"Or what?" Roger hissed, "What are you going to do, Lincoln?"
"Roger!" Jonathan exclaimed, "Are you trying to provoke him?"
"I think he is," Lincoln nodded, grinning all of a sudden, "Let's give him what he wants."
Not even Faithful, who could predict most things with his magic, expected Lincoln of Conte to sucker punch his own cousin, the Duke of Conte, at the forehead. Roger cried out, falling to the ground, instantly.
"Oh my god!" Abbigail gasped, the very picture of shock with her eyebrows raised high and her hands to her mouth.
Alanna didn't leave as alarmed and came over Roger to see what the situation was. Blood poured from his hairline at the forehead. It was dripping into his left eye. The Conte Duke's breathing was heavy as he struggled to sit up. Lincoln looked satisfied as he held a handerchief to the ripped skin at his knuckle. Great Mother Goddess! The Lioness had never admired the Scanran Conte more. He'd actually hit the Duke of Conte! Oh, how wonderful it had been to see that!
Jonathan shook his head, looking disturbed, "Lincoln...you really shouldn't have..."
'I believe it was appropriate in the circumstances,' Faithful purred, leaping out of Thom's arms and rubbing against Alanna's ankles.
The door to King Roald's office opened as seven heads shot up, stimutaneously. A richly clothed man entered. He had skin paler than any Alanna had ever seen before and his hair was a white blonde. His eyes were a shockingly icy blue. What was stranger yet about this man was that he war more jewellry than Alanna, Lady Winfred and Abigail combined. His ears were pierced three times at the bottom, one in the middle, one at the top and another at the very joint where the ear joined the actual head. His nose was strung with a bob too. He wore about seven necklaces, bracelets and numerous rings. All of these looked be of the most expensive and polished silver. Before he'd even introduced himself, Alanna knew this had to be Lord Cobalt of Rigton and Eastern Scanra.
He eyed Winfred first. She rose, her beautiful stature lost as she saw her husband. She bowed to him, which Alanna thought was odd. Wives didn't generally bow to their husbands. Not in Tortall anyway.
"My Lord," she breathed, not daring to look him in the eye.
"Winfred. You are ever more beautiful," Cobalt smiled, although it looked fake. He took his lady's hand and kissed it, gently, "I missed you, greatly, in the time we were apart."
"And I you," she finally looked up and Alanna couldn't see why he said she looked more beautiful. Her eyes were tired from weeks of worrying about what would happen with Alanna and Abigail. Her hair was limp because she didn't have time to care for it because she was always trying to think up schemes to destroy the upcoming engagement between her daugther and Roger. She was still lovely, yes, but not at the level she had been at when she'd come here.
He gave her a sneer-like look and moved on as if he was done talking with her, "Lincoln, dear boy, I can see you are still as ragged as ever."
"Father," Lincoln held out a hand.
Lord Cobalt shook it. They seemed more like business partners than father and son. In fact it was hard to imagine Lord Cobalt fathering neither Conte children. They had both obviously inherited all their Tortallan traits as opposed to their Scanran ones.
"Where is my precious daughter?" Cobalt asked, looking about.
Abigail was currently trying to hide behind Alanna and Jonathan so that Roger wouldn't have to witness his uncle reunite with the supposed servingmaid. Lincoln settled the problem as he took a book and whacked the Duke of Conte over the head with it, throwing him unconcious. Lord Cobalt raised an eyebrow, his silver bangles tinkling with a eerie rhythm.
"Is that...is that Roger you just hit?" the Scanran Lord implored, instead of looking highly frightened and disturbed, he seemed rather amused. Did he like watching his son massacre his supposed nephew?
"Erm...no," Jonathan supplied, "That's a-err-Carthaki spy in disguise."
"Hmph," Cobalt noted, quaintly, not giving any indication about whether or not he believed this highly weak story or not, "Interesting. My, my, Jonathan. You are quite the young man. I was very impressed when I heard of your commanding during the Tusaine War."
Abby winked at Alanna who was watching her, as she pulled out a vial from the folds in her skirts. She took a few quick swallows, instantly turning back into her Conte self. Even in her servingmaid dress, she looked regal and beautiful.
"Thank you, Uncle Cobalt," the Crown Prince nodded, smiling, politely.
"Who's that behind you? Is that my Abby? My nightingale?" Cobalt gave his first genuine smile, "Come out and welcome your father properly, young lady."
Abigail squeezed out from between Alanna and Jonathan. The Lioness stood beside her Knightmaster, hoping that Lord Cobalt became none the wiser about her part in his family mess. Jonathan stood close and wrapped a protective arm around her waist. She felt it there and glanced at it, suspiciously, although she didn't shrug it off.
"Nightingale!" Lord Cobalt exclaimed, grinning broadly, using his apparent nickname for her, "I've missed you more than anyone else!"
He wrapped his arms around her, giving her his warmest reunion. He lifted her off the ground by about two feet and shook her till her face was red. He lowered her, studying her critically.
"You're dressed as a maid," he stated, finally, frowning.
Abby tried to laugh if off, "It's really just a joke. I just wanted to see what all those Tortallan traditionalists would say if I came to a ball dressed as a servingmaid. You know me."
Cobalt shook his head, laughing with her, though it sounded mechanic, "That I do."
Over the royal Niece's shoulder, he caught Alanna's eye. She looked awkward standing there in all the glamour that Abigail should have been wearing. Her gown was held oddly, as if she didn't wear them very often which she didn't. The Lioness was just thinking about a fake allias to make up for herself when Lord Cobalt asked her what her name was.
"This is my new friend," Abby explained, coming to her rescue, "She's...uh Alanna of B-Bablia."
'Alanna of Bablia,' Faithful purred, his voice teasing, 'I do believe you've just gained another persona to become.'
The Lady Squire stared daggers into her black cat's head. He merely straightened his whiskers, giving her a leering smile, 'Is Bablia even a Tortallan fief?'
Jonathan and Alanna looked between each other, hoping that Lord Cobalt knew very little about the geography of Tortall.
"Alanna of Bablia?" Cobalt repeated, blinking, "I've never heard of that particular fief before."
"It's one of the newer ones," Jon rushed to make up for Abigail's stupid move, "Father created it along the same time as Mindelan and those other ones. Not many have heard of it yet."
"I see. And who's this young man here?" the Scanran Warlord questioned, gesturing towards Thom.
"Squire Alan of Trebond, if you please, sir," Thom said with a bow, exactly as squires and pages were trained to do. It seemed as if some of his daily training was actually rubbing off on him. Alanna couldn't help but grin at the thought. Sir Thom, Knight of Tortall.
"Squire Alan? I believe I've heard of you from my nephew, Roger, a few times. It's a pleasure, I'm sure," Cobalt held out his hand and gave Thom's a tight squeeze. It was most certainly not a pleasure. Anything Roger had said about Alan could only be for the worse.
"Abigail? Come, you must escort me to my quarters so that we may be reaquainted. I've much to tell you," Lord Cobalt smiled, then gave a last, platonic, look over his shoulder, "Winfred, Lincoln, come along."
The family of four left the room. Jon shut the door right away. He looked across his father's study and suddenly wished that he hadn't brought everyone here. The whole office was a mess from where Lincoln knocked over chairs on his way to the Conte Duke. There was also a plant that had fallen over when Roger had gone to the ground, the dirt from its pot all over the floor. Worst of all, blood from Roger's wound at the forehead was dripping on the marble floor too. Alanna wrinkled her nose, he was the most vile mess of all.
"What do we do with him?" the Crown Prince demanded, looking exasperated.
"Clean him up and take him back to his room. If we're lucky he won't talk. He might even think he imagined all this," Thom suggested, quickly, "Alanna, can I leave you in charge of that?"
"Me? Take care of Roger?" the Trebond looked indignant, "Why can't you do it? You're an equal healer. Better even."
"Because I have to stay here and help His Highness clean this mess up. It'll go faster with our Gifts. Your Gift on the other hand, isn't trained for stuff like that. And, it'll look more natural if Roger's fiance leads him back to his chambers than his enemy," Thom rolled his eyes, annoying Alanna because he was right. She hated it when he was right.
Too angry to say anything, she simply kneeled beside Roger of Conte and began healing the wound at his forehead. Mere minutes ago she had hoped to be the one to cause him this pain and now she was helping him to get better! Swallowing about ten different types of curses, she began to medicate the Duke of Conte. The purple of her Gift began flowing into the wound, the magic instantly stitching up the sum of Lincoln's furious punch. She couldn't stop to do things the mortal way because she couldn't risk leaving a scar there. If he had any reason to put blame on Lincoln for hitting him, they would all likely be in trouble. After a few draining minutes, the wound was heal completely. The faintest mark was there, not anything Roger was likely to notice lest he looked for it.
"How do I get him back to his room?" the Lioness asked, raising a doubtful eyebrow.
"Here, let me help you," her Knightmaster offered, and together, the two of them lifted the socceror off the ground, balancing him on each of their sides. His head lolled and rested on Alanna's shoulder, making her twitch, uncomfortably.
"Argh! Thom, get him off me!" she cried, fidgeting, the head would not budge.
"Hold still, will you?" her brother scolded her like a mother would to her child.
He reached out a hand, trying to move Roger's head off her shoulder. It was impossible to move, unless they snapped the Conte Duke's neck in half. Alanna could practically feel Faithful's silent laughter ringing throughout the study, even though she could not see her feline companion.
"Unfortunately, you'll just have to take him like that," Thom shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"How about I take him with you?" Jon offered, "I don't trust you not to hurt him anyway."
The Lady Squire grumbled in reply. So, the three of them set off. Her, Jon, and Roger. Faithful stayed behind with Thom, watching in interest as the young mage started lifting the bowels of dirt off the ground and transporting it back into the pot with his Gift. The last thing Alanna heard before the door to the study closed was the cat saying, 'Your Gift is strong. Have you ever considered...'
Luckily, the walk to Roger's rooms was not far from King Roald's study. Just a bit off the Ball Room. Unfortunately, it was also a quiet one. Both friends did not want their chatter to attract unwanted attention from nobles still roaming about from the Ball. They were rather breathless from supporting Roger's weight anyway. The socceror was not particularly bulky, but he most certainly weighed more than Jon.
When the door to the socceror's chambers loomed ahead, Alanna was quietly cheering out of relief. Her breathing was ragged by the time Jon had used his key to unlock the way into the Duke of Conte's chambers. They passed by laboratories, libraries, and sitting areas. Mithros, must his rooms be so large? Finally the reached the bedroom, bumping their way in. They swagger, tired from carrying all this dead weight. The Lioness and the Prince placed Roger on his large, fur-lined bed, heaving.
A curtain rustled nearby, causing Alanna to snap her head up. The blue velvet draperies were moving no longer so she took it to be a breeze from the open window. Straightening, she stretched her back, cringing. Jon was leaning against what looked like a basin, catching his breath. He looked far less tired than she was, but, then again, she was a bit out of practice.
"Remind me never to put Roger and Lincoln in the same room again," Jonathan shook his head.
The Trebond gave a tired laugh, "Gladly."
Once again the white basin behind her Knightmaster caught her eye. It was oddly curtained, as if something extremely secretive was underneath it. She heard the trickle of water and knew it was running. Alanna's eye went to the corner of the room where she noticed another wash basin. Why did Roger of Conte need two wash basins? In fact, now that the Lioness thought of it, she hadn't seen that white basin Jon was leaning on the last time she'd been in Roger's chambers.
"Jon, what's that behind you?" the Lady Squire implored, coming towards it, curiosity driving her.
"Huh?" he pushed away from the basin, knocking something into it in the process. Alanna had glimpsed it for a brief second. Was it-could it possibly be a doll? As soon as she thought it, she chuckled at the very thought. The Duke of Conte wouldn't play with dolls.
"I haven't got a clue what that is," Jonathan shrugged, showing apparent disinterest, "And I don't think you should go snooping about it."
"I'm not going snooping!" Alanna cried, defensively, "But-aren't you curious?"
The Crown Prince's face was blank and obviously noncaring, "No. Now come on. We've dawdled here long enough."
Instead of moving away, the Trebond took one step closer to the basin, eyes wide. She had a feeling she was about to discover something very important. If only she moved the veil shielding it aside, she could discover how Roger worked.
"Alanna...," Jon warned, "Come on."
Promptly, she forced herself to turn around and leave the chamber. However, she couldn't shake the instinct that she'd just made a very big mistake.
As soon as they were out of the room, Delia came out from behind the draperies, where she was hiding. She had came here straight after Roger had announced his engagement to that whore-Alanna of Conte. The Eldorne girl hadn't expected to find her lover, dead unconcious, being led back into the room by his royal cousin and his finace. Speaking of his fiance...she was beginning to remind Delia of someone. The noble lady's eyes shone, brightly, she'd do many a thing to destroy Alanna in the eyes of her lover and fiance.
If Alanna survived tonight's ball, it would be the greatest accomplishment of her young life. Even for a Knight, this was a very dangerous task. At tonight's ball, two different girls would go to the ball. Alanna and Abigail were both attending the ball in honor of Lord Cobalt of Rigton and Eastern Scanra as the royal Niece. Abby would go, just for her father's benefit and Alanna was going for everyone else's benefit. Half the time, the Lioness would also have to pretend to be 'Alanna of Bablia', or at least when Lord Cobalt was present.
She felt sweat form around the back of her neck. Could she really masquerade as two different people at the same time? Great Mother Goddess, she could barely masquerade as one person!
Tonight, the Lady Squire couldn't even come to the ball with Thom. Lady Winfred said it would be highly inappropriate for her to be escorted by another man especially when she was bethrothed. Alanna couldn't believe she actually had to comply with these rules, especially since it wasn't really her that was bethrothed. It was Abigail, right?
'Do I even know what's going on, anymore?' she thought, perilously.
She arrived at the ball with Lady Winfred and Abigail, who was dressed in her full glory for the first time since she'd reached Tortall. Everyone who thought Alanna was the royal Niece, would wonder why Abby looked more like the Contes than she did. The group of them had decided to say that Abigail was a distant relative of the Contes, Xandra of Groer, one of the newer fiefs in Tortall.
As they arrived to the ball, the Lioness noticed everyone's eyes dart to Abigail, who looked very different and pretty. She was like an exotic fruit and everyone wanted a taste of her. Alanna read their eyes, knowing they were thinking, 'What's her name?', 'Where's she from?', 'Is she still unmarried?'
The Lady Squire came to sit with the other members of Conte, at the table at the head of the entire Ball Room. The traditional meal would now begin. Queen Lianne sat beside King Roald as Lady Winfred settled in with Lord Cobalt. Alanna sat beside Roger, getting looks of approval from all in the room. Jonathan, Lincoln, and Abigail sat where ever was left. The Lioness' Knightmaster caught her eye and for a brief second she thought he actually looked jealous. Jealous of her and Roger? Now, that was a laugh. Looking into the crowd, she noticed Delia glaring at her, digging her knife into her beef, pretending it was Alanna's determined face.
"How are you this evening, lo-?" Roger started and was cut off before he could say 'love.'
"Fine. Just fine," Alanna responded, fast, noting that Lord Cobalt was watching this interaction between herself and his daughter's fiance.
"Well, that's good because I was thinking that tomorrow we would go riding and perhaps discuss plans for the we-," the Duke Conte began, smilingly.
Alanna started laughing loud enough to drown out the end of his sentence. He frowned, "What was so funny about that?"
"Oh, you're funny and oblivious," the Lady Squire smiled, hoping he wouldn't bring up weddings with her again, "Really, you shouldn't speak of those things with me. Take Xa with you. She's so much better at that stuff."
"Nightingale, why did she call you Xa?" Cobalt demanded to Abigail.
"Uhh...," she gave a fake chortle, "It's a nickname."
Roger raised an eyebrow and whispered so softly that only Alanna could hear, "Why does your father sweet tooth with that new lady? Is she his mistress?"
"No, no," Alanna shook her head, blushing at the preposterous guess, "He just treats her like a daughter is all."
The Duke of Conte gave her a sorrowful smile, as if it was sad that she was oblivious to the fact that her father obiviously had a mistress and was enjoying a lustful affair behind Winfred's back.
"It's true," the Trebond huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, as servingman and women came out and began serving the first course of the dinner.
"So, where are you from?" the Conte Duke asked Abby after a while. Lord Cobalt looked shocked that he didn't know.
Abigail coughed, "Uh, you know. Near Scanra."
"You should know by now, my dear nephew. After all, she is to be your wife," Cobalt gave a fake grin, looking offended that Roger didn't even know where Abigal was from yet.
Roger raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me? My wife?"
" 's...friend!" Alanna offered, wanting this dinner to be over. When the dancing began, she'd ask Roger to dance right away if only to drive him away from further confusion and debate with Lord Cobalt.
"What are you saying, girl?" Cobalt demanded, eyebrows raised high.
"My Lord," Winfred soothed, coming in on the conversation, "Listen, how about I take you on a tour of Corus with Roald and Lianne tomorrow? How does that sound?"
"We'd love for you to join us. We could even discuss the upcoming wedding," Roald grinned, speaking in his deep baritone voice.
"Sounds lovely," the Scanran Warlord agreed, giving Alanna one last glare before turning his full attention to the King and Queen.
Fortunately, he spent the rest of dinner that way, relieving Alanna and Abigail of saving their own hinds. Roger, however, kept shooting suspicious looks at Alanna and Abigail, as if he thought they were up to something. He was particularly weary of his fiance, especially since Delia had told him to watch out for her. Then again, she could've just been saying that out of envy.
"Your father has become soft-brained," Roger noted, while no one was paying attention.
Alanna stared up at him in surprise. What kind of thing was that to say to someone about their own father? Even though Lord Cobalt was not her father, Alanna couldn't help but be insulted. If someone had said that about the late Lord Alan, the Lioness would've punched their face in.
True to her word, as soon as dinner ended, the Lady Squire offered to dance with Duke Roger. He smiled at her, slightly awestruck. He hadn't expected his fiance to be so generous and kind. However, it wasn't something that comforted him. In fact, his mind was working to figure out why she was suddenly being so generous and kind.
After their first dance, Alanna rapidly seperated from him to go join Thom and her usual gang of squire and Knight friends. They bowed to her as she entered their presence. To her great displeasure, they didn't treat her the same. It was just because she was a lady. An engaged lady at that. In fact, every single one of them, other than Thom, was afraid to upset or offend the Duke of Conte by being overly friendly with his beloveded.
The Lioness decided to trade them up and chose to sit with Jonathan instead.
"Evening, Jon," she nodded to him, sitting down.
"Hello," he replied, gruffly.
Not even he was good company. He seemed to be dwelling on some thought. He even rejected beautiful women, who had come to ask him to dance. It was extremely uncharacteristic behavior. After all, the Prince was not one to leave a ball without a lady draped over his arm.
"What's biting you?" Alanna asked, putting aside her worries and hoping to be distracted by his own.
"Do you-do you know how long it's been since I've been with someone?" Jonathan demanded, his sapphire blue eyes glinting as they caught her own.
The Lioness scrunched up her face, "I don't know. Three weeks since you stopped courting Helena...so three weeks?"
He smiled, "I was never with Helena. Or, at least not in the sense I'm talking about."
"What sense are you talking about?" the Trebond furrowed her eyebrows, thinking. Her Knightmaster raised his eyebrows, as if that was explanatory, "What are you trying to say?-ohhh!"
He must have been talking about sex. Suddenly, Alanna wished she hadn't asked him what was wrong. Truthfully, while she and him were the best of friends, he often chose to talk to Raoul or Gary on these matters instead of her. She was inexperienced, embarrassed and silent on matters like these.
"Yes, oh," Jon broke his gaze to her great relief, "It's been about a month."
"Just a month?" the Lady Squire had thought it would be longer. Who had he slept with a month ago?
He ignored her last statement, continuing, "And I can't-I can't because I keep thinking of-"
He halted his sentence, looking her in the face again. She didn't know why, but she couldn't stop her face from going a beet red. Her heart started to beat a little bit faster so she leaned away from him, trying to calm herself down. Under the table their knees bumped and she blushed even more, staring down at her lap. Her pregnancy charm burned on her neck and she shifted away, so he wouldn't be able to see it.
"Alanna-," he started again but was thrown off when King Roald stood, ready to make an announcement.
His Majesty was wearing robes of royal blue and silver, both Conte and Tortall colors. His black beard grisled as he smiled at the nobility in the room. In his rosy hands, he held a package, wrapped in colorful paper. It looked like a present of some sort.
"At our last ball, my niece and my nephew were officially bethrothed under the Tortallan code of the Royal Family. Tonight, my wife, Lianne and I celebrate their joyous union with this gift we bestow upon my dearest niece, the bride-to-be," Roald beamed, broadly, making Alanna go pale, "Please, come up here and collect it with glory as you should."
Immediately, Alanna's eyes darted to Abigail. They both looked dumbfounded. Roger, Cobalt and the entire court expected their version of the royal Niece to go up and receive the gift. Shakily, both girls stood. Everyone's eyes darted between them, looking rather perplexed. Abby met Alanna in the center of the room, nudging her and linking her hand with her's.
"Smile," she murmured in her ear through her fake grin, "I've got something to say that will smooth this over."
What could she say that wouldn't make this situation awkward? Lord Cobalt looked furious, his face scarlet and his eyes bulging. Roger looked more so intrigued, wondering more and more about the complexity that he was bethrothed to.
King Roald smiled at them, even though he too was confused. He held out the package and the Scanran Conte and the Lioness reached out for it at the same time. They grinned back at him, each of them holding it with one hand.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Abigail curtsied, "Dear Alanna and I knew we had to come up here together as such good friends we are."
"Um, yes, Xa is quite correct," Alanna followed with a curtsy of her own, "Your gift is too gratefully received. Thank you."
"You are welcome, my dear niece," Roald said in turn, luckily not naming any names.
Abby and Alanna stuck side-by-side, not wanting to show one person having the present over another. Perhaps if they both held on to it, it wouldn't raise far more suspicious, especially from Lord Cobalt, who was asking too many questions.
"That was horrible," the royal Niece shook her head, miserably, "We can't keep this up for much longer. What are we going to do? Have both of us walk down the aisle?"
"Steel yourself," the Lioness bit her lip, "I have a feeling the worst is yet to come."
Two weights pushed in to sit beside Alanna. It was Lady Catherine and Helena, her wonderous Gallan family. Helena's pale brown hair cascaded past her shoulders all the way to her elbows tonight. Her gown was of a soft ivory color and it fitted her to a par. Aunt Catherine wore her usual type of gown-one that was about three sizes too small for her body shape.
"You know, my dear niece, I never would've thought to see you bethrothed to someone of power like the Duke of Conte," Catherine commented, playing with her pearl necklace, "Just don't get too comfortable where you are. I have spoken with His Grace, Roger of Conte, and I do not believe he shall keep you for long."
"And don't become close with the Crown Prince either-," Helena commenced a rant.
"Helena," Catherine interjected, coldly, "Prince Jonathan is not of your concern. He will not inherit the throne, therefore he is not of importance."
"Is there a point to this conversation?" Alanna demanded, snootily, she had better things to do with her time.
"But, of course," Lady Catherine smiled, "I just wanted to tell you, ahead of time, that I shall be the cause of your death."
The Lioness stared at her Aunt, wondering whether she was bluffing or not, "Excuse me?"
"Your wedding day will arrive soon this year," Catherine stated, eyes glinting, "And the day before I will reveal you for what you really are. An imposter. A she-male. And for that, you'll be hung on Traitor's Hill."
"You tell me this why?" the Lady Squire asked, her Aunt, not prepared to admit she was frightened by the threat.
"Why, I want it you loom over your head, that's why. I want you to carry on each day, imagining it to be one of your last. I want you to go crazy from thinking of it," Lady Catherine's voice was now a harsh whisper, "I want you to go crazy like I went crazy when I thought of how you and your brother deceived me."
"Deceived you?" Alanna scrunched up her face.
"I have not forgotten the Ghost of Honor," Catherine replied, and when Alanna looked at her in shock, she added, "Yes, I know that was you. It became almost painfully apparent after I had left Trebond."
"You're petty," the Lioness said, dryly, "A better woman than you would've been over that by now."
"Maybe I'm petty," the Gallan Lady agreed, thoughtfully, "But I'd rather be petty and alive than big-hearted and dead, wouldn't you?"
The Trebond tried to reply but in the process she ended up biting her own tongue, causing it to bleed.
Author's Note: Hum dee da. Not much to say, but the whole Conte mess is going to be over soon. That's not to say that Lady Catherine and Helena won't be around for longer than that. They will. Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you review because I love reviews.
winky-wink