A/N: So I had a different version of this chapter all ready to go but upon a second go-through I realized I hated it so I completely scrapped it and went this route instead. Hence the delay.
Love to all my readers, and to KatDancer2 for the wonderful beta skills!
Alistair tore through the hallways of the palace while the moon still hung bright in the midnight sky. Torches burned low and sputtered on the walls, casting shadows over the stone pathways that led him ever closer to the object of his anger…anger and gratitude. Had Eamon never sought to meddle in his marriage, he may never have finally succumbed to his desire for Elissa, and that alone was enough to have him wanting to shake the man's hand with a silly grin plastered upon his face. Elissa had been…there were no words. Never before had he experienced such an overwhelming sense of possession. When Eamon had presented him with the crumpled favor and whispered his poisoned lies, Alistair had felt the first stirrings of jealousy deep in his bones. When Elissa had erupted, shedding her clothes and pressing her body so close to his, it had consumed him and the only thought available to him had been one simple word: mine. Even with Harlow he had never been overwhelmed with the desire to claim and posses, the feeling was something only Elissa could elicit within him, which only made their relationship far more complicated. Because of this he had feigned sleep, knowing Elissa would not find her own relaxation until she was convinced of his obliviousness. When he was sure she had drifted off to the Fade he silently slipped out of the massive bed and gathered the discarded sheet, careful not to jostle his sleeping wife as he did so.
And now he was storming through the castle, that possession and jealousy still riding him, taking on a far sharper and deadlier edge now than it had with Elissa. Once the desire had fled his bones he was left with a kind of numbing horror as he thought back on their conversation they had prior to their passions. He had accused her of vile things, had spoken of divorce, and then without so much as an apology had taken her so thoroughly she had, miraculously, been at a loss for words for minutes after. Inwardly he shuddered. This was not who he was, who he had been raised to be, though if he was being honest with himself, a part of him had been hardening since that day outside Goldanna's house, when Harlow had railed at him to stop being the "prissy, naive little chantry boy and start being the ferocious, grown up warrior" she knew he could be.
Harlow. Her name stopped him in his tracks, though surprisingly not because of the pain her name once conjured. He was shocked to note that the mere thought of her only caused a twinge of regret in his chest, there and gone in a second. When had that happened? He realized it had been happening all along, ever since Elissa had first thrown herself into his arms and kissed him with those soft, pliable lips. A petulant part of him wanted to be angry at her for daring to remove Harlow from his heart, but a far more practical voice whispered in his mind that she had done no such thing. Harlow was still there, would always be there, her memory held close and safe until the Calling brought them together once more. But she no longer claimed all of his heart…the knowledge was heady and exhilarating.
And to think that Elissa-headstrong, infuriating, trying, and amazing Elissa-was trying to emulate his former lover? It stung him deep. What had he done to make her think she needed to do such a thing? Perhaps the better question was what had he done to counter such a notion. The answer? Nothing. The urge to run and hide in shame over took him and he had to swallow hard past his foolishness to continue his journey, intent on blaming someone besides himself for Elissa's fragile sense of self.
He was torn from his thoughts when he at last came to a stop before his chancellor's bedroom door. His hands fisted the linen he carried in his arms, knuckles going white with strain and he let out a shaky breath, willing himself to some semblance of calm. Shoving the door open with a violent crash he strode into the room, eyes narrowing as Eamon shot straight up in bed, eyes seeking out his intruder.
"Alistair?" he asked blearily, "What is the meaning of this?" Alistair answered by throwing the balled up sheet at his almost-uncle. Eamon sputtered and batted at the fabric, hands seeking to untangle it from about his head.
"There's your infidelity, my lord," Alistair said through clenched teeth, parroting Elissa's earlier words.
"Do forgive me, Alistair, but this is a sheet," Eamon said patiently, smoothing the linen over his legs, "I do not know what one has to do with the other."
"It is the sheet on which I took my wife's virtue, Eamon," Alistair growled, "not more than two hours ago."
Eamon stilled at his words, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he took a closer look at the wrinkled fabric. When at last his gaze landed on the now dried, rust colored spots he raised an eyebrow in disbelief and fixed Alistair with a mocking stare.
"How can you have taken her virtue this night, when you performed the same feat more than a month prior?" Eamon asked dryly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"Is this how you won Isolde?" Alistair inquired, his irritation growing with every word, "Feigning ignorance and acting coy? What are you, a woman?"
"I will not be spoken to in such a manner!" Eamon huffed, harshly tugging on a pair of breeches.
"I think I'll speak to you in any way I like," Alistair said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, "I outrank you, Eamon."
"And do not forget who put you in such a position," Eamon snapped, holding his posture straight and proud.
"I don't think I ever will," Alistair seethed, "I gave her enough grief about it to last a lifetime and beyond."
"Her?"
"Harlow put me here, Eamon, not you. You think I truly would have ascended the throne for you alone?" he snorted. "You, who hid me away in stables and chantries until I was useful? No, it was she who handed me my crown. I was so damned in love with her that I would have done anything she asked of me, even if it broke both our hearts."
"You were so in love with her?" the chancellor prodded.
"Don't go there, Eamon," Alistair warned, taking a step closer to the man, fists clenched tight.
"I believe I will. If our dear queen has tossed Harlow from your mind simply by spreading her legs I must question whether your thoughts are truly your own, or fogged by lust."
Alistair closed the distance in two steps, striking out without thought. His fist connected with the older man's jaw, snapping his head to the side.
"You will keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking of my wife, or by the Maker I will end you," Alistair panted as he fought to keep a hold of his temper.
"Do you see what she has done to you?" Eamon pleaded, fingers rising to wipe a trickle of blood from his lips. "I raised you, my boy, and you strike me for pointing out what should be obvious. I know Elissa is very beautiful, but you cannot let a pretty face and steady stream of tumbles betwixt the sheets disarm you!"
"There has been no steady stream," Alistair insisted, ripping the evidence in question from the bed, "there has only been this!"
"And again, I ask how you could possibly have taken her virtue twice!"
"I didn't take it to begin with!" Alistair roared, "Damn you, tonight was the first time we…were intimate."
Eamon gaped at him, all self-righteous anger leaving in a rush. Alistair would have laughed at the sight of the old man at such a loss were it not for the rage that threatened to boil over.
"Why?" the chancellor eventually managed, clearly unable to wrap his brain around the information.
"That is none of your business," Alistair replied tightly, dropping the bit of linen to the ground, "all you should be concerning yourself with is the fact that, despite your very vocal accusations, Elissa was a maid until this night."
"Just because she never did the deed does not mean she was not free with her affections," the man protested, eyes gone sly and calculating, "that guardsman-"
"Has a lover," Alistair replied, "a male one. Try again, Eamon. Why are you so damned intent on ruining Elissa in my eyes?"
"Because he cannot control me," a voice murmured from the open door way. Alistair spun around, heart in his throat, as his gaze landed on the woman in question. She was dressed in a simple cotton gown, long and flowing, perfect for sleeping. Her hair was still mussed from their passions, the strands curling wildly about her shoulders. Those so-dark-they-were-almost-black eyes of hers were red rimmed and bloodshot, a layer of sleep still filming them. All of it never touched her, and gazing upon her once more that possessiveness that had driven him earlier came roaring back, and Alistair once again thought, mine. She strode into the room, her feet bare on the stone floor, and came to a stop before him, peering into his eyes with a steely sort of disapproval.
"I thought you were asleep," he murmured, unable to keep the wonder from his voice.
"I was, until a dream woke me, and I found you missing. I told you I had this well in hand, Alistair," she said softly, her tone brooking no refusal of her wishes.
"I took initiative," he retorted, a grin curling at his lips. He raised a hand to smooth her hair, the urge to touch her in some small way overwhelming.
"I do not need you protecting my virtue," Elissa snapped, eyes flashing, "I have been doing so since I sprouted breasts and the stable boys at Highever noticed." At her words his hand stilled and he let out a sigh. Clearly nothing had changed between them, at least for her. While he may be filled with possession and desire, she felt otherwise. Or so he thought, for she suddenly stepped close, her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear as she whispered, "Though, I do appreciate the sentiment." When she laid a gentle kiss upon his cheek he felt his disappointment evaporate and contentment take its place.
"In that case, my lady, do you have anything to add?" Alistair said with a clearing of his throat, eyes sweeping once more to gaze upon Eamon who was close to an apoplectic fit.
"Only that if you should ever seek to drag Ambrose into your games of palace intrigue you will find that it is your position, not mine, that has become temporary," Elissa stated with icy precision.
"You can ply your wiles on Alistair all your want, Your Majesty," Eamon spat, "but in the end he will see you for what you are."
Elissa grinned wickedly and rolled her head, as if to stretch, revealing the long line of her graceful neck and the midnight blue love bite that marred her skin, a token from Alistair given only hours before.
"Oh he sees me, Eamon, of that you can be sure. Keep that in mind the next time you seek to destroy my marriage."
"I only have Alistair's best interests at heart," he said softly, as if seeking sympathy for his plight.
"I doubt you hold anyone's interest's but your own," Elissa snorted before taking her leave, trailing a lingering hand down Alistair's arm as she did so. When the two men were left alone Alistair let his once beloved "uncle" bear the full weight of his gaze before slowly turning to follow his wife.
"Alistair," Eamon protested, voice pleading, "please, before you take an action, think on all I have done for you…can do for you. You are still new to ruling and-"
Alistair silenced him with a glare thrown over his shoulder and reached for the door.
"I think you've taught me everything I need to know," Alistair said coldly, letting the door close gently behind him, the latch echoing loudly as if to emphasize his words.