A/N: For the record, the Lianne in my story has spent most of her life in the Royal Palace in Corus. I don't think there would be the same pressure on her to marry for a peace treaty/alliance as there was with Kalasin, and with the realm at war, I don't think Jon and Thayet would be toobotheredabout her marriage at the moment.

Chapter Seven.

The Prince was back to his normal routine the next morning, after a few slight hiccups. He had, regrettably, woken half-slumped across the table, the decanter two-thirds empty still beside his elbow. The serving men must have crept in at some point and cleared the food away, for all that was in the room was himself, the wine, and a single lighted candle.

He chose to ignore it had happened, although the furry feeling in his mouth and the heavy thumping of his head that he always got after drinking too much, made his ignorance a hard game to play.

In his dressing room, Roald had indulged in an uncharacteristically long bath, with the hope it would soothe his headache and release the knots in his tense muscles. Putting his head back against the tub's rim, he didn't realise he had fallen asleep until he woke with a start.

A clattering noise had woken him; panicked, he looked for its source. His valet stood a few paces away, aghast. In his shock, he had dropped the shaving blades he had been carrying. He had never seen his Highness in the bath this long, let alone asleep in the semi-cold water.

'A towel, if you please, Western.'

The valet jumped into action at the Prince's clipped voice. He lunged for the nearby towel, holding it wide for Roald to step into.

From then on, Roald's morning had settled back to its usual procedure. He had shaved, dressed, and walked to the workrooms. Now he was waiting for Gary's ritual welcome while he started sorting through the papers.

There was a sigh from the doorway and Roald smiled to himself. There it was now.

'Roald…'

'Don't-'

'Yes, I know,' cut in Gareth. 'Don't lecture you. Aren't you sick of this? I never put you down as an ink and scrolls man, you know. You're young, you should be outside doing whatever it is you young people do now.' The knight waved his hands around.

Roald smiled. 'Someone has to do the work, Uncle Gary. Now, no more persuading.'

Gary sighed. Every morning he tried a slightly different approach but he never seemed to get through that young man's head. If he wasn't the Prince he'd order him to mind his manners to his elders, and to do as he was told and scat.

'How was your dinner last night?' he asked. At Roald's surprised look, he explained, 'We ate with your parents last night.'

'It went perfectly well, thank you.' It didn't escape Gary's notice that the Prince was tense and ducked his head to his accounts as he spoke.

'She didn't say so, but I think Lianne would appreciate a visit today.'

'Thank you. I will try and see her this afternoon.'

With another sigh and a shake of his head, Sir Gareth left the Prince. As he left, Nelle entered, bearing the Prince's morning tray.

'Ah, Nelle,' he said with a welcoming sigh, rubbing his temple one-handed. She bobbed respectfully, her eyes- Roald noticed- still averted downwards.

'Your Highness.' She began her usual morning practice of moving the papers and putting the breakfast in its place.

Roald swiped the hot, buttered, jam-covered toast immediately, praying it would settle his body's reaction to last night's wine. He watched the young woman as she worked, thinking how small she was. He could probably circle her arm with his thumb and finger and they'd meet. Distractedly- licking the jam from his fingers- he wondered if she was married and how many children she had mothered already.

Roald's attention was suddenly caught by a green glass bottle about seven inches high that she placed behind his breakfast.

'What's that?' he asked with a frown. She flushed, clasping her hands together.

'It's medicine, your Highness.' He was about to demand a reason when she added, 'For your head.'

'Who told you to bring this to me?' Her eyes went wide.

'The c-c-cook, your Highness, the cook that always gives me your tray in the morning. I swear I didn't-'

He waved a hand at her and her rush of words stopped. As realisation sunk in, he covered his face with his hands.

The servants, last night. They had taken the food away and left the wine. By midday, it would be all over the palace how the heir to the throne had slept with a bottle of the finest by his hand.

He dismissed Nelle and once he was alone he downed a shot of the thick syrup. What else was there to do?

---

Princess Lianne was on her own when Roald entered, a book laying open on her lap as she stared out of the window. The sound of his boots made her look round and she smiled to see him.

'Roald! What a nice surprise!' She saw his eyes had turn hard upon seeing the sling she wore. 'Oh, it's nothing!' she said jovially. Twisting to put her feet on the floor, she patted the cushioned window seat next to her. 'Come sit with me.'

He started to protest then stopped, shook his head at himself, and slid into the gap she had made for him. 'Why are you on your own?'

Lianne gave him a crooked smile. 'I sent my friends off riding. Obviously-' she lifted her sling-protected arm- 'I can't go, but it's probably their last chance before the snow sets in for midwinter.'

Roald nodded his agreement. 'How are you feeling?'

Lianne pulled a face. 'It's okay. It doesn't hurt too much- well, it aches. But I have to keep this on for a fortnight.'

'Two weeks? That seems a while.'

Lianne rolled her eyes. 'Baird said it's because of the cold weather. My body doesn't want to heal as quickly while it's freezing, or something. And I have to do exercises with the shoulder.' She sighed.

'Never mind,' he replied, patting her hand comfortingly. 'Midwinter will be finished by then and it'll be the new year.'

'Great, that means I have to go to all the Midwinter parties with a sling on.' Suddenly she perked up, remembering something. She sat straighter, and closed her book.

'How was last night?' asked Lianne tentatively. Roald clenched his jaw tight; was he to have everyone remind him?

'Pleasant, thank you.' To his surprise, Lianne sent him an arch look she shouldn't have known how to do at her age.

'Why do I find that hard to believe?'

Roald looked to the ceiling, thinking of how much fun the Gods must be having tormenting him so. When she didn't get a reply, Lianne continued.

'Maybe it's because you and Shinko aren't getting on well?'

Mithros, if she was going to bring this up every time they spoke, he would stop seeing her.

Lianne sighed. 'Please don't block me out, Roald. I know I'm "only" sixteen, but it's just you and me now. There's no Kally- there hasn't been for years, and Liam's been in and out with his training, and I never know where Jasson is.'

'Lianne, I…'

She started to fold and refold and tug at her skirts as she continued, her voice quieter. 'I know it was always you and Kally. You even used to come and see her regularly when you were a page- until she went to live with Aunt.' She swallowed, hard, and Roald caught her trembling hands before she ruined her gown or over-stressed her injury. 'But if you want to talk to someone, Roald, I hope you know you can come to me.'

He could hear the truth behind that pleading: his little sister was lonely. He squeezed her hands. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sincere.

'Thank you, Lianne.'

He guided her hands back to her book and watched the cat across the room stretch languorously. He felt like doing the same, until every muscle in his body was loose. He was too tense.

'I've heard rumours, Roald.'

'Rumours?' He glanced across at her, only half interested. As he had once told Kally when she had been upset by malicious rumours, gossip was only slightly founded in truth and more often than not, that truth was insignificant.

'They say you're regretting your wedding, and avoiding your wife. That you're not sleeping with her.'

There were several heartbeats of silence. 'And do you- my sister- believe them?'

She shrugged. 'What am I to believe if you do not speak to me? If you are not seen in your wife's company?'

Roald made no comment and continued to watch the sleepy cat across the room.

'If you do not deny it?'

'She is my wife, and always will be. There is no question of that. What is there to regret?'

'So much, Roald,' she whispered. 'So much.' She watched him, watching the cat. 'Do not give yourself more to regret.'

'You speak with far too much misguided wisdom, Annie. Slow down and enjoy your youth while you still can.'

'You're not old yourself.'

'You have no idea.' He stood. 'Now, enjoy the rest of your afternoon; I'd better be off.'

'Thank you for coming, Roald. It was a nice gesture.' She smiled warmly at him, as if they had not just had that conversation, and he smiled wanly back. Something about her words shook him… they were like a disturbed ghost. He struggled to make sense of it.

'Good afternoon, Lianne.' He left, shutting the door as she curled up on the window seat again, the book falling open in her lap.

It was a nice gesture.

A nice gesture. Where had he heard that before, somewhere recently?

'How's your headache, brother?'

Roald turned. There was Jasson, hands on hips, a look both mocking and challenging on his young face.

'Good afternoon, Jasson.' Roald continued on his way. Annoyed at being ignored, the youngest prince dashed after Roald. Brandy barked and tumbled behind his master.

'Hey, Roald! Roald! How's the pretty princess? How's your head, Roald?'

Roald grit his teeth together and ignored his brother all the way to the clerics wing of the palace, where Jasson finally got bored and gave up. Roald sighed and watched the young troublemaker scamper off, Brandy barking at his heels.

A nice gesture.

Gesture.

Of course! Last night- before the wine- just before Shinko left. That's where he remembered it from.

It was a nice gesture.

I thought you had done this as a friendly gesture, not a way to win back my favour.

Well, if it was friendly gestures these women wanted, he could do that, easily. After all, he was the Prince- he had access to everything he could want.

But what would Shinko want? A fancy meal to make up for last night's disaster? Gifts of beads and gold and pretty dresses?

His options were definitely narrowed at the moment, thanks to the season. He couldn't take her on a day trip, or a picnic, and even walking in the gardens was cold and icy.

Gardens. Flowers. He remembered how upset she had been when he inadvertently killed the violets Master Harailt's nephew had given her. The gardens might be bare of all but leafless twigs and evergreens, but there were the new heated gardens in the university.

Quickly he went into his office and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment, writing:

Please arrange a bouquet of mixed flowers to be sent to me as soon as possible.

He signed the note officially and sent it to the university, hoping his request would be dealt with soon.

---

It was no use pretending any more. She might have married for duty, but she had developed strong feelings for Roald. She couldn't say she was entirely surprised; they had been together for nearly six years now.

Shinko stood by the window. The sky was the brittle blue of a clear winter's day but below she could see the people's breath appear before them. They continued with their jobs as best as they could, trying to ignore the biting cold. It would get colder yet.

Yes, she liked Roald a lot. Loved him as a companion and a friend. As a husband? –She wasn't sure. He hadn't been a very good husband so far.

She wished he would speak to her. That he would tell her what was going on. Oh yes, he said he was busy, he said he was working. But what was really going on inside his mind? What was troubling him? What was he really feeling for her?

Oh, they might be married and there was no changing that, but she could still speculate on his feelings for her as any other woman did. He ignored her, he avoided her- and that hurt.

She hoped that he could come to terms with his issues and not create more problems for them, and for his family and country. But then again, this was Roald and she knew that country and duty came first and foremost with him. He wouldn't let his own personal problems come in the way of duty and honour.

His coldness towards her came as a surprise; she had always been led to believe that he was open and friendly to everyone. She had never heard of him behaving like this, even to his close friends and family. Why did she have to be different?

There was a knock on the door. She turned around, wetted her lips, smoothed her skirts down. Wondered who it was.

'Come in.'

It was Roald. Of course it was; who else would it be when she was thinking of him? He smiled.

'Good afternoon, Shinko.'

'Hello, Roald.'

He seemed a little awkward, and she wondered why. And then she saw the big bunch of flowers he held: a clever mix of roses, lilies, daisies, and various other blooms.

'Ah, these are for you, Shinko.' He came across the room, holding them out. Why was he so awkward?

'Thank you, Roald.' She took them from him, hesitated, and then smelt them.

'Do you like them?'

'They're very nice, Roald.'

'Very nice?'

'Yes, Roald. They're very pretty.'

She could see his jaw muscle flexing. He studied her intently, as if waiting for something more. What was he expecting? For her to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him passionately just because he had brought her some flowers? They were pretty flowers; they would have been gorgeous if she had known he had chosen them himself.

He sighed irritably. 'If you have nothing further to add, then I'll leave you.' He turned to go.

'You're not who you used to be, Roald.'

He stopped walking- but didn't turn to face her.

'I wish you could tell me about it.'

He carried on to the door. He opened it, and then paused to look at her. He looked away again. 'There's nothing to tell.'

He left. Shinko sighed and turned back to the window. One flower fell from the bouquet; she glanced back at it but made no move to pick the pink rose up. There was no sentimental value to the rose that had fallen on her floor.

And there was no excuse for Roald's taking her for granted.

---