"Yes," Reiss agreed not feeling it in her heart. She wished she could, some made it look so easy while others could embrace their non-belief with as much fervor. Falling in the middle only left her with more questions and less answers.
"We have not spoken before, Ser Reiss," Beatrice changed tactics.
"No, Ma'am, your Majesty," she stuttered, chasing to shore up her weeping heart and stuff it down behind the armor.
The Queen smiled with the softest uptick of her thin lips. It seemed she was never far from her smile, but it didn't brighten the room the way the King's did. While his was like trapping the sun inside a closet, hers was a whisper of candlelight upon a dark mantle. "I assume my King placed the prince in your arms before dashing off to handle some other small matter."
"Yes, that was what he did, your Highness." Reiss' grip shifted around as the sweat accumulated on her palms. Do not drop the baby. Maker's sake, never drop the baby.
"You spend a great deal of time with him," Beatrice said, her downturned eyes suddenly snapping with a ferocity she'd never expected.
"I..." Flames! Reiss had expected a snide comment from Philipe or Renata, anyone else that was sure to notice the love sick elf drooling over the King, but she'd never imagined that the Queen would catch on. Could Beatrice throw her in chains? Would the King try and stop her? Did he even notice? Maker's sake, please don't let him notice. "I do as I'm ordered."
Beatrice leaned in close to the elf holding her baby and said, "It is a wonder you can stand his peculiarities for as long as you do."
"He's not that...we, I've had far worse jobs, my lady." Reiss tipped her head down unable to take that calculating stare masked behind the gauze of motherhood.
"I'd imagine so," the Queen clucked her tongue. "It is not my place to meddle in these matters, but perhaps you should be made aware."
Reiss tried to not flinch as the woman somehow gained a foot over her and leaned closer. Even if she didn't banish the bodyguard from the palace, or Denerim, or Ferelden itself, this was going to be the most awkward moment of Reiss' life.
Beatrice patted her on the shoulder and said, "He possess a rather thick skull at times and requires a far stronger push than one expects."
"Beg pardon?" Reiss sputtered, feeling as if she was just tricked by a demon. She glanced up and the Queen's patient smile twitched higher.
"You'll find the proper moment, but be brash about it."
Swallowing down, Reiss's mouth fell open as she tried to find any word to make sense of what she heard. All her brain could offer up was a quiet whine through her ears, like someone was running laps around the castle while screaming. She had to fix this, convince the Queen that there was nothing, would never be anything of evidence between her and... Maker's sake, she's an elf!
"I don't...? What do you...?"
Reiss' pitiful attempts were drowned out as the door cracked open and the King appeared. He looked little worse for the wear, a bit of probable rat blood splattered across his green and tan doublet. "All fixed and I didn't have to throw anyone in the dungeon," he crowed. "Now, how's about some time with my boy."
Grateful, Reiss passed off Cailan to his father's arms. In switching over, Alistair's fingers wrapped across hers and for a brief second he held them tight. No, that was her imagination fueled by the Queen's insinuations. With her head dipping down, Reiss tried to slink into the shadows to play the part of wallpaper.
Beatrice stepped near, a kerchief already in her fingers. "Do try to keep the baby from swallowing too much blood," she sighed while wiping it off Alistair's cheek.
"Thanks," he smiled at his wife a moment before turning back to his son. "Wait until you're old enough to chase down rats with a big wooden stick. Though, knowing Spud she'll be doing that any day now."
"No doubt at her father's urging," Beatrice said back. There was a dash of venom in there but she seemed prepared to acquiesce to the inevitable.
Alistair shrugged, the man at the beck and call of his children and happier for it. He placed a quick kiss against Cailan's forehead before sighing. Glancing over at Reiss, he smiled wide, "So, what'd you two get up to while I was out?"
She watched the Queen turn to her and smile nearly as brightly as her husband, "We had an enlightening conversation. One I hope she'll take to heart."
With a blush brightening up her cheeks, across her forehead, and down her neck all Reiss could do was nod and pray for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ghosts of Pain
Reiss had no idea if the talks were going well or not. To her it was nothing but chaos as the same ten or so people gathered together in a room to yell over top each other, punctuated by friendly dinners of the fanciest vittles Karelle could scrounge up. But then the King would give an occasional thumbs up from across the table or, as they stumbled off to their beds for a night, say that they'd actually gotten something done. All she saw was indecisive discord but maybe that was the general state for politics. While the days were long, some of the longest she could remember since being a foot soldier for the Inquisition, it felt strangely worthy. The Dalish would sometimes look over at the elven bodyguard and not quite smile. The First even struck up something of a conversation with Reiss across the dinner table about squirrels.
It also helped that Bann Declan was kept far from her, not that the man seemed to have any memory of her having worked for him, nor the way he acted. She tried to pretend none of it ever happened, that it was all an overreaction on her part in order to preserve the delusion that Reiss was strong. But having him exhale near her, with that sucking sound and his breath tinged with clove drops wafted over her sick skin, it came crashing back.
No. Reiss shook it all off. That was not a part of her life anymore, and thanks to the King's help it would never have to be. He'd been generally happy, as happy as one can get while trapped in a chair supervising grown men and women about to call each other 'booger face.' There were only a few times when a dour mood stampeded out the smile, usually whenever the College of Enchanters was invoked. The newest arcane advisor was brought in for talks as the Bann feared all that evil magic the dalish were casting on their lands.
Whenever Alistair would quiz Linaya about what if any failsafes the college had in place for mages that either didn't want to study there or were about to go all abominiationy, she didn't have much of an answer beyond promising to look into it. That'd set him off, the man all but throwing his chair back to stomp around the table. With a set jaw, he'd growl about how it'd be so much easier to have the damn answer right now if their Grand Enchanter could be bothered to reply to a letter beyond her curt dismissals.
But even that would waft away, the King shaking his head and trying to steer the conversation back to elves and who belonged where. Reiss expected to stumble into the King's bedroom and have him challenge her for some sparring to work off that excess energy, but all the man wanted was to yank off his boots and collapse into bed. He would manage to get them off about half the time before succumbing to sleep. After three days of talking around in circles, it was agreed upon that the King, a few of the others in his entourage, and the Banns would all visit this disputed land to see just what horrors did or did not exist there.
While Reiss was prepared to head out the next day after the decision was struck and shook upon, the King sighed and told her, "Sadly, we have one more fancy pants thing to get to before we can revive the real work."
There had to be a ball.
No one informed her of it, the rest of the palace in more of a tizzy to decorate and prepare for it instead of taking the time to tell the newest bodyguard. Reiss expected to be fully forgotten about to the point the other guards tried to throw the elven beggar out into the streets, but when she woke she found her armor was polished to the nth degree. She didn't even have to use her fogged up mirror to see her own haggard face staring back.
That was the extent of her getting ready for the coming dance, though she did hear
a constant stream of people fussing over the King while he paced back and forth in his rooms. Reiss kept their shared door open while she honed her blade, the steel slicking down the edge. On occasion she'd look up to catch a blonde blur all but running back and forth. He had a scroll or two in his hands, double checking on some other attempt at a new agreement from the Banns or Dalish. The piles of servants managed to get a dashing velvet doublet upon him - midnight blue with buttons of silver dashed down the middle like stars. However, no one had managed to stop him in time to finish off with trousers. The inner shirt, stark white, frilled out over the tops of his thighs like a tiny skirt and Reiss did her best to not watch the man's pale and very naked legs as he made another lap.
"Sire, please stop."
"Why?" he paused, finally turning up from his work.
"You must wear pants to the ball, for...everyone's sake," the servant pleaded, the poor kid looking about to break into tears. It'd been a stressful week for all.
"I thought I already was," Alistair yanked the vellum away from his chest and glanced down at his skin on display to the world. He laughed at the mess and then quirked his head up, "Wait, how did I get my shoes on?"
"We don't know, Sire," the servant groaned, dropping to his knees to tug the polished leather off the King's feet before finally getting him into the trousers he'd been streaking past all night.
Reiss watched the servant quickly moving to dress him, too amused by the spectacle now that it was over, when she felt eyes land upon her. Glancing up she caught the King smiling at her having watched him walking around pantsless. A blush burned up her cheeks and she flipped her shield in the way because it was suddenly very necessary that she check the strap for any wear and not to cover herself from his Majesty's wickedly handsome smirk.
"Have you ever been to one of these things?" Alistair asked.
"Yes, Sire. Numerous ones."
"No kidding, Ortal, but I wasn't talking to you," the King smirked down at the servant who was trying to jam the royal foot back into the shoe.
Peering over the top of her shield, Reiss met Alistair's eye and she admitted, "No, I haven't before." The command was that only humans would be able to sneak into the Winter Palace due to anyone else either being confused for servants or dwarves being fully out of place. Reiss was serving in the Emerald Graves while the ball took place, most likely twirling with those freemen as the best of the Inquisition danced with the duchess.
"It's not so bad," Alistair said. He nodded down at Ortal who stepped back and then dashed off to find something else to add to the man's wardrobe. Stepping closer, the King stood in the doorway before Reiss' room. "There's a lot of people standing in a room that will feel hot compared to falling into an open lava pit. Small talk, larger talk, louder, violent small talk, a handful of people twirling in circles in the middle of the room. One guy who's dead certain he's the Maker's gift to the world flailing around like his back's on fire and calling it dancing."
"Why do people do this?" Reiss struggled to understand.
"Because it's tradition," he smiled, "and the food's pretty good. There's this mushroom they cram full of cheese and spices." A cravat swung up behind the King, cutting off his words. Reiss leapt up off her bed, her hands reaching behind to try and yank it off, when the servant swung a haphazard knot back around and ruffled it properly in front of the King's attire.
"There, that should be up to snuff," Ortal sighed, not so much proud of his work as abandoning it.
Reiss caught the servant's disinterested eye wander up to her with the question of what the hell she was doing in his face. Without an answer, she absently reached up and patted her bun into place when a laugh echoed from the King. He must have caught on to the play and found it hilarious. Without drawing any attention to his bodyguard about to lay the servant out flat for adding a decorative tie to him, Alistair adjusted the knot of silver until it dangled in whatever way was fashionable.
Sliding back into his room, he hunted out a mirror and made a vague pass at his hair. Someone took a long time to try and grease it down into the more popular wet look, which the King promptly obliterated as he absently lifted his hair up and back. Nodding once at the striking figure in the glass, he smiled over at Reiss. "Shall we?"
On an average day the great hall was not so impressive. The scale of it more than lived up to its name, providing enough room for a jousting tournament should someone become very drunk and delude themselves into thinking it was a good idea. But that was about all it held, room. Vast space was filled with more space, the walls decorated in banners associated with Ferelden and the Theirin bloodline, but little else.
As Reiss descended the stairs behind the King her breath caught in her throat. The entire hall glittered with thousands of candles struck upon golden chandeliers dangling off the beams. Crystals focused the light in prismatic rainbows across the dance floor where men and women twirled in erratic but precise movements to a full orchestra roped off where the gentry would stand during landsmeets. A sweet song echoed above the trill of flutes and Reiss spotted those crimson birds swooping through the chandeliers, dusting the dancers in their molting feathers. Karelle found a use for them after all.
Every corner and inch of the great hall teemed with the richest colors, the most vibrant fabrics, and the most precious jewels. Reiss felt herself flinching whenever a shoe of gold or feathered pauldron festooned in diamonds would catch the light. Positively everyone glittered from head to toe in decadence, the men -- regardless of how they'd been screaming each other raw not a day earlier -- appeared the epitome of a gentleman class in their tailored suits. It was the women that caught Reiss hardest of all. Dresses with both modest and daring necklines skirted around the floor, every woman at the peak of feminine beauty as the full skirts amplified that hourglass figure. She spotted Karelle towering over most of the people, her imposing edges softened like butter left on the stove by the frills of her skirts and the ruching along the bodice's top.
"You still back there?"
Reiss shook her head, realizing the King was speaking to her. Maker's sake, how long had he been trying to get her attention? "Ah, yes, Sire."
"Good," he snickered, "I was afraid you might have run out the window on me."
He stood at the top of the stairs alone, the far more drab bodyguard standing behind in the shadows. While Alistair appeared to be waiting for something, Reiss had no idea what she was meant to do. "Um, if I may, what precisely should I do during the ball?"
Abandoning waving at his people, Alistair turned and smiled at her, "Trail me down the stairs, I'll have to say something to get the official party started, and then try to enjoy it. Wander around, maybe attempt dancing, oh and be certain to get to the dessert table fast. That's always picked clean in five minutes flat."
"I..." she dipped her head down and felt a blush rising up her cheeks. "Thank you, Ser."
"Not a problem, Ser," he smiled back before turning around and beginning his descent to the people.
After coughing out a rambling speech about nothing in particular, the King clapped his hands to get the party started. Despite Alistair giving her his leave, Reiss haunted beside him uncertain where she should go. The various dignitaries and gentry she'd come to pat down all formed their own clusters. It reminded her of the gangs that would pop up either in the camp or when she was working in various smelting factories and the docks. People loved nothing more than to form groups just so they could have somewhere to belong against others. Exclusivity ran deep with blue blood.
Alistair shook a few hands, his arms always returning to a gentle cross, until the other side of the staircase parted to reveal the Queen descending down the stairs. A hush fell over the crowd which raced all the way back to those who couldn't even see Beatrice. While some of it may have been a deference for the Queen, Reiss was certain a lot of it had to be what Beatrice wore. The ivory bodice was tight and conical, lifting the nursing woman's breasts up high until they looked like a pair of waxing moons.
The bones that normally provided the structure for the corset would be hidden away, but these were polished to an opalescence shine and left exposed to glitter by the candlelight. Her skirt flared out in a full circle and bore the Ferelden seal embroidered with golden thread continuously circling around the bottom. She looked like the very heart of the country descending down the stairs with the prince in her arms. The baby's blanket matched his mother's dress, the same embroidery evident from the scrap positioned to hang in front of her.
As Beatrice stepped down to the final stair, she reached a delicate gloved hand out to the King, who happily picked it up to help her down. With an obvious show for the people, Alistair leaned forward and plucked a whisper of a kiss against her cheek. That drew a smattering of applause from the crowd, everyone shifting their glasses around to free a hand and not be caught failing to celebrate their royal couple's marriage. The King moved to slide back from his wife, when a pink burst of energy shot out from behind Beatrice's skirt.
He laughed as the princess leaped up into the air, Alistair easily catching to swing her around. Her dress bore the kind of ruchings that made all little girls wish to be princesses, white roses stuck to the indentations. But the girl didn't seem to care for any of the fancy lace, nor the silver shoes dangling off her feet. All she wanted was her father to spin her around, which he kept doing until someone asked him to stop.
"Sire, you should begin the dancing," Arlessa Isolde told him.
"Right, got it," he nodded at her, and then placed the princess on the ground. She began to stick her lip out but he tugged her close and whispered loud enough half the ballroom had to hear, "You get the second one, Spud." Extending his hand to his wife, he said, "Ready?"
Beatrice passed the baby back to Marn, who was also dressed like a dream. Maker's sake, was someone handing out dresses to every woman in the castle while Reiss was busy bathing or something? She shifted uncomfortably in her armored boots, feeling ever more aware at how she stood out - always the sharp, rough edges in a sea of softened silks. As the King guided his wife out to the dance floor, a slower song struck up and the pair of them began to gently turn around. If it was to try and convince the gentry that the pair were madly in love, they were doing a terrible show of it. Alistair and Beatrice left enough room in between them, the princess could have easily slipped in the middle. Neither truly smiled, a painted on look of 'let's get this over with' gracing both their faces. But neither sneered nor glared at the other. They moved like two strangers that neither hated nor liked each other.
Love's Blush Page 33
