"I didn't realize one could study about the stars, or predict things with them," Reiss stuttered. She didn't know much, her education stunting at around age eleven or so as work built up. Reading and writing were impressive for a little elven farm girl. Forget math, or medicine, or whatever allowed one to anticipate the stars falling from the heavens.
"You should see when she predicts an eclipse," Alistair chuckled. "That woman must have been a bard before. For the last one she stood in the middle of the town square, hopped up onto the fountain and shouted 'Now shall come the hour of darkness!' And sure enough in that moment the dark spot shifted over the sun, blanketing Ferelden in shadows."
"What happened?" Reiss gasped.
"People panicked, a few tried to call her the next prophet, but as the entire retinue of enchanters was in town at the time, they all snickered and calmed down the masses until the eclipse passed. It was kinda funny though, I had to give her that. Can't say I wouldn't do the same if I knew half the magic numbers she does."
A chill climbed up Reiss' arm, darting through the thin linen to wrap around her exposed skin. Alistair must have felt it as he tucked in tighter around her, trying to transfer his heat. "You must know much, about...I can't even imagine."
"What makes you think that?" he chuckled, his chin digging into her skin.
"Well, you're King. Don't people teach wanna be kings things like philosophy or...that math of the skies."
"Not particularly. I learned some things in the templars. There was philosophy. We spent two days debating if shadow puppets were real or if we were the shadows being cast by the puppets. The knight instructor was less than pleased when I pipped up during the discussion with my interpretation of 'Little Peter Cottontail.'" His hand lifted off her stomach to form the small rabbit but with no light to cast the shadow it looked as if he was giving a rude gesture to the people in the east.
Reiss cupped both her hands around the little fake rabbit, trying to smooth over the skin while she sighed, "I don't know anything about this shadow idea."
"I'm afraid I don't much either," Alistair wrapped his hand back around her, tugging Reiss back to lean flatter against him. She felt oddly comforted by the move, certain that he'd hold her up. "The way I remember all philosophy broke down to was man's a jerk and would be an animal without the Maker's interference."
"But the Maker left us," Reiss scrunched her face up, regretting starting this conversation. She didn't stop to think about how much more knowledgeable all of his previous love affairs were until dealing with alchemists talking over her head. The mages were taught from a young age for free because of what they were, knowledge distilled deep into their bones. Reiss knew she wasn't smart, but she was pretty good at faking it when it was called for. Did Alistair expect the same level of intelligence from her as with all his other...mages?
"Now you see why I'd do shadow puppets on the wall and then get kicked down to the kitchens to scrub the larder with a hairbrush. If there's sense to be made in all the talking around each other I never found it."
"I find myself almost envious," Reiss admitted, "there were no instructors on the farm. You learned enough to make certain no one would screw you over in legal documents and then got back to work. I'm not," she curled her arms tighter around herself and hugged, "I'm afraid I'm not very clever."
"Are you kidding? You were able to get the cork out without a second thought, which we were drinking because you put all the pieces together on the sort of deadly, mostly crappy assassins."
"But that's just..." it came easy to her, memories often sticking to her brain like paintings. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could see it all as if still there before her. It felt like cheating to be praised for something so simple. "It's nowhere near as impressive as this," she gasped, extending her hands to the sky over run with the rapids of stars colliding against her indigo beauty.
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm a complete idiot and it hasn't stopped people from looking to me for when the shit's launched out the catapult."
Reiss giggled at the idea, her head dipping down as her fingers skimmed against his holding her so tight, so lovingly. She began to speak, when a yawn broke through her words, which infected Alistair. His exhausted breath washed against her skin and he shook his head, "Maker, now I'll never stop. Good call on the sleepy, exhausted. How are you holding up?"
"Getting more tired, but..." she gazed up at the sky, "this is impossible to leave."
Alistair turned his head away from her to glance behind and he said, "I've got an idea. Hold tight." Locking his hands around her, Alistair lifted Reiss up off the ground. She felt the giggle begin first, while another part of her worried she was far too large for him to carry her around. He seemed unaware of her concerns, his arms rock solid as he inched himself backwards. Reiss watched the railing fading away, until the back of her leg met his knee and in one quick movement, he sat them both down into the King's balcony chair. Alistair leaned back in it, while Reiss perched upon his knee.
"Am I?" she glanced back at him to see a silly smile and nothing more, "Am I hurting you?"
"What? No. That leg's been dead since the blight," he chuckled before knocking a hand into it. Reiss' weight bobbed from the move when Alistair winced, the pain reaching him. "Okay, maybe not as dead as I remember." Abandoning his show of bravado, he wrapped his hands around her stomach and tugged Reiss further into his lap. She gladly gave in, resting her head back against his chest. "I'm being a stubborn bastard right now because...I don't want to stop holding you yet."
Turning away from the night's sky, Reiss stared into his umber eyes nearly black without much torchlight to highlight them. Ruffling up the scruff along his chin, Reiss drew him away from the stars to her so she could kiss him with a purity she didn't think possible. Sweet she expected from the man, light hearted and even dare she think kind, but it was his unwavering need to prop her up that kept surprising Reiss. Drinking deep from the waters she'd never thought possible, she was certain that all of Lunet's fears were beyond foolish. Alistair was never that kind of man.
Slipping away from his lips, she smiled, "I don't want to stop holding you either." Wrapping her hands around his neck, Reiss nuzzled against his taut skin. Comfort. In all her life, she feared she'd never again know that feeling. She had lived her life upon the tip of a pin, waiting with fear for when her newest job would dry up, wondering where she'd find her next bed, or terrified of what mood she could expect from Ethan. But here, with this man who shouldn't work at all, she felt safe for the first time since the blight took it all away.
Cuddling deeper into his arms, Reiss turned to watch the night sky playing to the Maker's tune.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Mother Issues
It was sad how long it took Alistair to realize that Reiss fell asleep in his arms. While her silence and methodical breathing weren't enough to tip him off, the small puddle of drool building upon his tunic was. Amazingly, she didn't rouse as he picked her up in his arms and staggered to his feet. It wasn't the best move in his life, his back angry at daring to put so much strain on it, and the arms being general jerks, but he managed to make it all the way inside to her room before she so much as stirred. Even then, it was only a small crinkle of her nose before she drifted off. She was more exhausted than she let on.
Laying her down in her bed, Alistair managed to yank her covers up over her before stopping and glancing down at the obvious silhouette of boots hiding below. Only cursing under his breath, he yanked those off, re-added her covers, and then slid out to his room. He wanted to stay, to curl up beside her, to drape an arm over her stomach and accidentally engulf her hair in sleep. To wake with her as sun's morning light skipped across her face. But people would wonder, and question, and then there'd be lots of "This is why this is bad for the country" meetings he was in no mood for.
Putting away the wish for something normal, Alistair quietly closed the door separating them and fell face down into his bed. He did
n't have the tenacity left to remove his own boots. When he woke from a pleasant slumber and even more pleasant dreams, he found a few servants standing at the foot of the bed. "Don't tell me," he groaned, the ache in his head reminding him why champagne was bad. He never noticed how much he drank until the bottles began to stack up. "It's Satinalia! Everyone's waiting for me to open up their presents."
"No, Sire," the first servant responded seriously to his joke. "It is only Summerday, remember."
"Yes, I know, I was..." he rolled over, accidentally knocking an elbow into the nightstand and a shoe against the bedpost. Lifting up off the bed, he gazed through the door to catch Reiss standing outside. She'd already dressed in her armor for the day, but a sweet smile graced her lips that seemed to be only for him.
"You were what, your Majesty?" the second more senior servant grabbed at the sheet Alistair kept rolling on top of and gave it a good yank.
"Joking," he coughed, accepting defeat and sliding off the bed to land upon his still laced on boots. Maker, he didn't sleep in his clothes? Glancing down Alistair confirmed that he did in fact fall fast asleep in the damn things.
"Long night for his Highness?"
"I dunno, if I find him I'll be sure to ask," Alistair quipped back. He fumbled for a comb to de-knot his hair but snatched up a small pin instead. What was that even doing here? Oh well. Unlatching it, he tried to use the single stick to dig apart the mashed ends of his hair.
"Sire?" the poor, serious servant stumbled again.
"Another one of those joke things you seem to be allergic to," he tried to blink through the nests spiders built in his eyes overnight to catch a glimpse of the man circling him, "Are you new?"
"No Sire," he bit back, which caused the second servant to break into a few silent giggles. "Shall we bathe his Majesty?" the serious one asked,
"No we shall not. I think his Majesty can figure out how a sponge works on his own." The old servant who'd been buffing Alistair's shoes since he first strolled into the palace politely coughed into his fist. Admitting to his past misdeeds, he added, "Provided it's not at the end of a stick which can grow slippery and be launched out a window when I'm bored. Fair enough, Charles."
"I said nothing, Sire."
Whatever they were fussing with, both men abandoned it, stepping away from the exhausted but technically upright King. Their jobs were finished. "Sire, I believe the water is hot and the bathing room is open. Shall I accompany you...?"
"Maker's sake, did the entire castle decide I was an invalid overnight? So I slept in, I was up watching the shooting stars. It's not a national disaster for me to miss first light," he dug a finger through his hair and found it didn't fall back down the way it should. Flames, what'd he get stuck in it now? Struggling to try and get a glimpse over the busybodies, he heard a soft snicker from the doorway and for a brief second caught Reiss' amused eye.
"If you're both finished here...?" he began, dragging his hand out.
The serious one looked about to argue, no doubt sent on Karelle's orders to get him into tip top shape for whatever awaited him today, but Charles knew Alistair well. "It's best if we give you your space," he said while grabbing onto the other man's arm. "Come along."
"But the Chamberlain ordered..." Whatever she'd threatened them with faded as both servants politely distanced themselves from the ramshackle King.
Abandoning hope of digging out whatever it was, Alistair turned to the beautiful woman who looked as if she'd slept a good ten hours on a feather mattress instead of curling up in his lap during a cool summer night. "Do I look that bad?" he asked seriously, his eyes unwilling to focus on the mirror.
"No," she lied while sliding into the room. "It's," Reiss yanked off her gauntlet so her warm fingers could tousle his hair back to where it belonged. Alistair fell dumbstruck from the care she gave for the smallest and most pointless detail. He was likely to have a gallon of water dumped on it soon, but it seemed to be important to her.
"There," she smiled, flipping his stomach up and down, "much better. Nothing one can do about the eyes I'm afraid."
"Let me guess, red as a sunburnt nug," he groaned, trying to scrub his cheeks.
She winced at his metaphor, but after glancing at the door, she slid close to him. Alistair's groaning at his pitiful state froze immediately as the beautiful woman wrapped her body around his. Those succulent arms curled up around his neck, his instantly matching by the small of her back. It was a bit more of a reach with all that armor, but even with the metal can acting as a buffer he still felt a wave of calm holding her.
"I take it I fell asleep while we were star gazing," Reiss whispered, her lips beside his ear. Perhaps she was afraid of the others standing outside the door overhearing, but Alistair couldn't hide a shudder up his legs at the intimacy.
"Uh huh, out like a cold cock to the back of the head."
"Thank you for caring enough to remove my boots and..." she paused, her eyes darting down as if a thousand darker thoughts trailed through her. Alistair turned his head to try and meet her, attempting to assuage her fears, when she smiled, "and letting me get my sleep. It seems you were less fortunate."
"I went down almost as soon as you did. This mess is one part getting old, one part I forgot what champagne does to me, and probably three parts being a Grey Warden."
Reiss scrunched her cute nose up at that, the side with the bump wrinkling up so bad, Alistair couldn't help himself. Darting forward he planted a kiss upon the side of it. As he leaned back, he watched her cheeks bloom red, Reiss smiling while her eyes stared off into the distance. Rubbing her gloveless hand against his scruff, she pulled him closer to her lips for a kiss. Even knowing that he looked like cat barf eaten by a mabari and barfed up again, she still wanted to kiss him. Maker he was so stupidly lucky. His lips brushed softly against hers when the door flew open.
"Sire, the bath awaits," Charles called.
She was quick to slip away from his grasp, already wearing her gauntlet when the exasperated servant walked in on his King seeming to have a little conference with the bodyguard. "My Lord," Charles continued, trying to jerk his chin to the bathroom.
Alistair glanced back at Reiss, but she was focusing out the window doing her best to seem aloof and slightly terrifying the way all good guards were. "Right," he ratcheted up his smile and beamed, "on to the bathing section of the day, my good man." Charles took the hearty slap to his back as he always did while handing his King a towel and being certain to keep him the path. He wished he could stay with Reiss, let her finish whatever she wanted to say, but duty and scrubbing himself squeaky clean awaited.
***
It wasn't until midway through the day that Alistair figured out why everyone was voidsent on getting him scrubbed within an inch of his life. They even brought out the pumice stone. That was reserved for days after he'd been in the field, had tried hunting, or once fell down a long slope in the mud, gave up on the idea of ever being clean again, and proceeded to start a mudball war. Squeaked, scrubbed, and shaved within an inch of his life, Alistair thought his skin probably shined bright enough it could blind someone. Even his hair was perfumed with a weirdly fruity blend that reminded him of a wine mixed with Spud's typical oatmeal breakfast.
The day's chores had been light: solve this matter, wave at a few people at the gate, act real impressed at some kind of tiny model waterwheel while no one got his joke about how it'd work great for milling the ant's flour. Alistair was happy to retire to his favorite of the studies. It wasn't much of anything special, the same usual number of desks, clerks skimming in and out, the chair about as uncomfortable as the rest, but they housed it right overtop the kitchens. All day he got to relish in the smells of whatever Renata was baking or roasting. This hour it seemed to be something bready, with hints of roasted nuts.
"Okay," Alistair slapped his hands on his thighs and thought about making another loop of the room. He was getting tired of sitting while people told him things and needed to stretch. "I think
that's about it for the day."
"Sire?" Eamon asked. Ever since the illness, the Chancellor was hot on Alistair's tail, as if he had any skills in healing or keeping someone from rushing headlong into a frozen river.
"I get it, we're all waiting with fishy breath to hear if our newest Spymaster has caught the criminals down by the ol' smuggling hole, but it'll be a few days. Weeks probably." His eyes wandered away from Eamon and the handful of other advisors following aimlessly to land upon Reiss. She stood beside the door, doing her best to be in the room while not a part of the proceedings. At his pronouncement, she blinked and her eyes wandered down to the ground.
He knew that catching the assassins and solving that problem would put Reiss out of a job and severely limit their time together. But he had no intentions of casting her off, there was a way to make it all work even when the immediate danger was past. And, Alistair realized, he should probably tell her that so she wasn't worrying herself over fear the King was going to go all Kingy.
"There are other matters besides the assassins," Eamon tried, but even he kept wandering off to Harding's stand-in. The new Spymaster was off doing what she did best, slipping back into the scouting role without a second thought, while this guy tried to work as a go between. At the moment he seemed to be half merman, requiring a constant supply of sweat to keep himself alive on land. As word trailed through the castle that they were close, everyone kept hounding the poor guy for updates. Alistair made himself promise he'd only ask once a day.
"No there aren't," Alistair announced. "It's summer. Damn near everyone's off down in their southern homes, or up by the Waking Sea for the season. Denerim is surprisingly quiet. All in all, it's a good day to knock off early and do something fun." He slapped his hands together and rose off his chair when a man barreled through the open door.
Love's Blush Page 56
