My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  The King tipped his head back and forth, the humor drying up. Returning to his papers, he asked, "Corporal Reiss, you were born in Ferelden...near South Reach?"

  "Ah," she rolled her tongue, uncertain if she was supposed to respond or not, "yes, your Highness."

  "But you spent a lot of your life in the Free Marches," he ruffled through the papers and read off, "some of it in Kirkwall, no less."

  She didn't wince at the mention, having learned how to bury that one ages ago. "Yes, I did." Reiss shored up her legs and rose to attention but a surprising pair of compassionate eyes lifted from the paperwork to her.

  "Blight?" he voiced that solitary word that changed her life forever. Reiss found her tongue flopping over, unable to raise a response from the strange shared remorse in his face. Instead, she nodded and glanced at his shoes only to start at realizing the King was wearing boots muddier than hers.

  "We lost a lot of good people because of that," he said, his eyes darting over to Cade. Something unsaid passed between them, but whatever argument the pair had, the Commander broke and folded his closed fist against his chest in solidarity.

  "Aye, Milord."

  Wafting away the cloud the moment it appeared, the King rifled through what she realized was her file. "Then one day you up and decided to work for the Inquisition."

  It wasn't how Reiss would put it, but close enough. "Yes, your Highness."

  "Lots of accolades listed here," he said, his eyes widening in a strange respect. "The Emprise, the Dales, even patrolling the High Plains for awhile. What'd you think of Orlais?"

  He asked it casually, but Reiss noticed the hungry look bouncing from the Commander as well as the drippy, tanned man standing beside him. Swallowing, Reiss said the first word to enter her head, "Exhausting."

  The King laughed, his hand cupping his forehead as he dug fingers through to fluff up his hair. "My thoughts exactly." In a surprise, the other Fereldens began to chortle as well, even the Commander broke for a moment, his meaty lips rising in a rare smile. Maker's balls, what was going on? If this was how they read a prisoner their sentence before hauling them off to Fort Drakon it was beyond balmy.

  After wiping a tear of joy from his eye, the King flipped back open her file. "Let's see...awards, lauds, praise, and even a personal recommendation from..." the flippant smile fell and a terrifying darkness crossed his sunny face, "Commander Cullen."

  "Is that...?" Reiss tried to rise up on her toes to see what the Commander had to say about her, but the King held it tighter to his face. "Is that a problem?" she asked, terrified of the answer.

  Snorting, the King twisted his head to the side, "No, it speaks very well of you." He smacked his lips a few times and then rolled his eyes to her, "He's a hard man to please."

  Reiss had no idea how to respond to that. She'd rarely met the Commander beyond spotting him a few times while on the field. In fact, she didn't even know about the personal recommendation he put into her file. The idea to ask her about the Commander of the Inquisition seemed to be perched upon the King's lips, but he shook it away and turned to Cade as well as the man beside him.

  "Well, Cade, Ghaleb, I'd say she checks out."

  "I have a few questions first, Milord," Commander Cade interrupted, stepping closer to her.

  "You could bowl me over with a breath at how shocked I am," the King rolled his eyes back.

  Cade didn't falter from the King's response, those sharp eyes narrowed down at Reiss and she tried to not think of how the blade against her neck would feel. She'd come close a few times in her life, but it never broke the skin, much less her spine. "You left the Inquisition, yes..."

  Knowing when she was being led, Reiss folded her hands behind her back and nodded once. Any word she spoke was dangerous and could be twisted against her. Even something as innocuous as 'I like cookies' could turn into 'She despises all things cake and would see bakers burned alive.'

  "To work for," Cade spun on his heels and tried to snatch the papers out of the King's hand, but he didn't let go. As the Commander cast a glower at his technical leader, he stopped trying to yank and slowly let go. For his part, the King only sighed again as if it was all some stupid dance they had to go through.

  Throwing them open, he drew his finger down to the near bottom of her file. Reiss pinched into the flesh between her thumb and finger trying to slot on her Wicked Grace face at the name she knew was coming.

  "Bann...Declan." His deep brown eyes shot up at that and the King mouthed, "Declan? Maker's breath, what in thedas for?"

  "He required guards, for reasons that weren't entirely made clear. I fulfilled that role for a time," Reiss said, doing her damnedest to not think of the time in her life that probably counted as the worst damn decision she ever made. She had to keep her opinions private because, knowing her luck, the Bann was some favored cousin of the King.

  Sneering, the King scratched a nail against the vellum and whispered, "I hope you got hazard pay." A laugh tried to exit out her nose, but she managed to turn it into a cough. "Andraste's fiery sword, the last time that pompous, dullard was in the palace I..."

  "Your Highness!" Cade interrupted.

  "What? Right, fine, I think what Cade's so inelegantly getting at is why'd you only stay for a few months. Wait, we know why Cade. I'd gladly chew both my legs off if I was trapped for more than an hour with the slime sucking, toad out of a hole Bann De..." His diatribe paused at the depths of annoyance radiating off his Commander. "Very well. What other screws do you want to put to her?"

  At the mention of screws Reiss tightened up. She'd been drawn in by the King's lackadaisical approach as if she wasn't dangling above a shark pit with the rope slowly unraveling. The Commander eyed her up, "Tell me, Corporal, when did you leave the Inquisition?"

  "9:43, Ser. Honorable Discharge!" she saluted, her voice echoing over every stone in the room.

  The King seemed to track it for a moment, his finger following the reverberations to a window when he paused and turned back, "43? After Mwhahahaha, I'm your new god went splat but before they transferred power to the chantry?"

  "Ah," Reiss had never heard Corypheus summed up so, though it was accurate, "yes, Your Sireness." She scrunched her nose up at the fumble, but the King didn't notice.

  "I knew we got a great bump after the Council decision, bit terrifying to have well trained and unemployed soldiers knocking about, but we made do."

  "Yes, Sire, I did," Cade interrupted, smugly grinning.

  "Do you want a parade in your name? I'm certain we could have one arranged. I'll go tell Isolde and..." the King said, watching a sliver of panic part the meaty face. Shaking it off like a wet mabari, Cade fell back to his usual hating everything stance. "So, if it wasn't the great winnowing down that pulled you out, what made you quit the Inquisition?" he turned the focus back on Reiss.

  "That's personal, Ser," she said. "I mean, Your Highness, Majesty..."

  "Whatever," he responded back, folding his hands across his chest while finishing her sentence.

  "Personal is not an answer, Corporal," Cade thundered, stepping even nearer to her. Reiss' eyes darted down to the hilt of his sword, cracked on the side as if it'd been hit from the left. She shook the stupid thought away. That wasn't helping her. Maker, how could she possibly explain why she left the Inquisition without sounding incompetent at best?

  "I..." Reiss began, when the King interrupted.

  "Let her have a secret," he said, shaking his head at Cade. "Personal's as good a reason to give up on the march to war as 'I got sick and tired of blisters bursting in my boots.'"

  "Perhaps I should try that one instead," Reiss muttered to herself and the King leaned nearer. Despite being the most royal noble she'd ever met, he smelled not of expensive oils but sweet hay and mashed up carrots?

  "Make sure and give me credit," he whispered, "I get so very little for everything else I do."

  "Of course, Sire," she gasped, regretting her slip of the tongue. Reiss ran the back of
her hand against her forehead and shook the flop sweat off onto the floor.

  "Welp, there we go. Left the Inquisition because of personal reasons, and abandoned Bann Declan for the Denerim guards because an ass full of blisters is better than having to sit through one of that man's recitals."

  Reiss involuntarily shuddered at that memory. He would have them often and required everyone at his estate to sit and listen.

  "I'd say she's good to go, more than qualified. Did you really take on a dragon?" he turned back to her.

  "A wyvern, Sire. Small one, hadn't developed its poison sac yet..." Shutting her eyes, Reiss tried to will the world to make sense, for something of reality to seep back into what had to be an accidental trip into the fade. But when she opened them again, the King, the Commander of the Royal Guards, and a mysterious stranger she didn't know all stood before her. "What precisely am I qualified for?"

  "Andraste's girdle," the King cursed before spinning to Karelle, "You didn't tell her?"

  The handler shrugged, "I had a lot to accomplish and I've found saying 'The King needs to see you' works better than a lengthy explanation."

  "Ser..." the King shook his head, "Sorry about that, Corporal Reiss, after your service to protect me and my family from assassins I would like to hire you to serve as my personal bodyguard."

  "Ah," Reiss gasped, her fingers smashing into her mouth to stifle a scream. They weren't going to hang her, or chop off her head, or even toss her into the dungeon. She was safe. More than safe, they wanted to give her a job. A job protecting the King.

  "I..." the King's eyes darted over to his Commander, "I know it's a big decision, which I'd hoped you'd had time to mull over in the ride here but--"

  "Yes," Reiss squeaked, her eyes widening. Instinctively, she stuck her hand out and grabbed the King's. "I mean, I gladly accept your job offer." As the giddiness of living faded, Reiss noticed that she was clinging to the King's hand as if someone like her deserved to touch it. Oh Maker, letting go would look bad but she was holding it too long. What was she supposed to do? Shrugging, she shook their conjoined hands up and down.

  The King chuckled, nodded his head at her, and shook back. "Now that that's settled, you..." he pointed at the drippy man behind him wearing a set of grey robes, "go and figure out who hired the assassins that came after me. Do some of that spying you do so creepily well."

  It was the Spymaster. She'd only heard a few whispered rumors of his existence, not that a castle having one was a surprise, more that people weren't certain what to make of the man. He seemed to return from whatever far away land his mind drifted off to, shaggy brows meeting in the middle as he bobbed his head a few times. "Right, I will go and do that. We've got a few ideas, chatter to piece together and other things that need to be accomplished you don't care about. I'll go and be going that. Bye."

  The King watched him scuffle and apologize but the man didn't actually move as if he was waiting for everyone else to leave before attempting it. Barely nodding at the strange behavior, he turned to Commander Cade. "I'm certain you know what to do."

  "Yes, Milord," he said, not bothering to recite back his orders. Either he was already told them ahead of time, already surmised what the King wanted, or wasn't going to listen to whatever his Majesty said.

  "Good, good," the King lifted a hand to his forehead and raked his fingernails across the skin. The specks of dirt jammed under them littered the wake, sparkling against his pale flesh. Strange. "Karelle, I assume you can get Ser Reiss...sorry, Corporal. You know what, let's do something about that. For saving my worthless life, you're a knight now. Congrats. We'll have a fancy knight party later to celebrate. I think there's a special cake or something with knives."

  "I..." Reiss had no idea how to respond. This was beyond imagination. She felt as if she should reach up and yank the tips of her ears out to make certain he noticed. You didn't knight elves, you certainly didn't make them personal bodyguards to a king! Maker, what if she was already dead? What if Karelle had killed her during the carriage ride and this was her afterlife? You'd think you'd imagine yourself in better attire at least, Reiss.

  "Right," the King slapped his thigh with the file, yanking her out of her flight of fancy. "If you don't mind, I have a very important meeting to make."

  "Uh, Sire..." Reiss stumbled, certain she needed to say something, to kowtow onto the ground and humbly insist she was not worthy of his gifts.

  He turned a smile pure as honey upon her, "Don't worry, Karelle will get you all kitted up. She knows everything about everything." The handler snorted at his assessment. "Then we'll talk later." Chucking her file at the Spymaster, who actually caught it, the King all but ran out of the throne room. Commander Cade snorted once at Reiss before following much slower behind while the Spymaster seemed to disappear within himself while staying rooted to the ground.

  A knight. A bodyguard. In the Palace. To the King. Andraste, bride of the Maker, what just happened?

  "If you'll come with me, this is going to take some time to get you set up," Karelle mumbled, leading Reiss to her new life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Parentage a Trois

  He played the King all day, ordering people to do things while standing regally beside the throne and - more often than not - glowering. Normally people would stagger up to attention and maybe give a hearty wave at Alistair as he sauntered past through the halls of the palace. Sometimes, when in a cheeky mood, he'd stop a servant and ask where the bathroom was. Now, he blew past everyone, barely bothering to say a word. A few guards milling on the stairs leaped back as their King rounded on the staircase, muttering apologies for not anticipating him, but Alistair didn't have time for any of that. He had one last important meeting to get to, the one that he'd been aching for the entire day.

  No one stood guard at the door, though Maker knew how long that semblance of serenity would last. In fact, the door was left wedged open, a strange green and blue light wafting through the gap. Smiling to himself, he remembered when the merchant presented the balls to the King as a gift. They lasted about five minutes in his possession before someone else discovered their amazing ability to alter the color of fire.

  Leaning into the door, Alistair stepped into the nursery. There used to be a crib right by the closed window, but its occupant grew too big and the newest addition was too tiny to be trusted inside it. He glanced over at the partition that was supposed to hide away her trundle bed, but the blankets were all tucked into place, nary a toy scattered from the pile on her pillows.

  As he stepped further in, he turned a corner to spot the fireplace roaring to an eerie purple as another color took hold. Marn kept a tight grip on the princess' arm so she wouldn't lurch forward and try to make friends with the flames. Smacking her chubby hands together, they missed in her eternal joy as the toddler bounced up and down from the fire's pretty colors.

  "Again!" she commanded, turning to look up at Marn who sighed, and in reaching for one in the basket on a shelf, caught Alistair lurking in the shadows. Spud followed suit and a squeal broke from her throat. "Daddy!"

  He didn't actively fall to his knees, his body folded in half plummeting him towards the ground as his daughter dashed forward to wrap her sticky fingers around him. Whatever gooey substance was digging over his shoulders with her hug also coated the little cheek burrowing into his chest. Alistair pulled her so tight to him there was no way anything bad or evil could get in.

  Maker, he nearly lost her. Lost everything.

  During every damn meeting to prove the King was fine, that the throne was secure, that they were on it to find the culprits and bring them to justice or at least drag them behind a horse for a few miles Alistair would glance up at the second floor and ache to scoop his daughter into his arms. They kept telling him she was fine, Teagan reported she fished out a quill and took to doodling, even Marn wandered by at one point carrying dinner for Spud -- who decided a few weeks past she would only eat red foods. But none of it felt real, he didn't
believe them until he could hold her tight and know in his heart that she was safe.

  "Daddy?" she whispered against him, caught up in the hug.

  "Yeah, Spudkins?"

  "Can I play?"

  A laugh broke through his throat, and Alistair started at the realization he was crying. Releasing his hold on Spud, he staggered up to stand and tried to wipe away the evidence quickly. "Sure, sure," he nodded, his breath shaking every word, "go ahead."

  "There will be no playing tonight," Marn spoke up, defying the rule of her King.

  Spud spun around and glared at her nursemaid. "But Daddy said..."

  "Young Lady, you have been given ample excuses tonight. We've even put Mister Tibbles to bed," Marn gestured at a taxidermy frog from the library Spud took as her own, currently tucked cozily beneath one of her mother's kerchiefs. "It is time for you to sleep."

  Her quibbling bottom lip stuck out, but it had no bearing on Marn who batted it away with an easy swipe of her mother bear paw. The one who couldn't stand it was Alistair. "Come on, Marn. After the day she's had..."

  "It is best she return to her routine," Marn insisted, crossing her hands over her chest.

  "I wanna play wif Daddy!" Spud insisted in her outdoor voice. Being two she didn't really have an indoor voice; there was her typical bellow and then a true wrath of a volcano scream when something set her off.

  "She's right, Tater Tot," Alistair said, stepping up to bat for Marn. The nursemaid turned a surprised eye on him, as if he had the same temperament as a toddler. "Come on, I'll put you to bed. Okay?" He asked that last part at Marn who opened her hands and shrugged. There had been a contentious battle over the years with the nursemaid of the opinion that fathers were best kept far from their children unless the fruits of their loins were cleaned, pressed, and starched to a nameless perfection while Alistair would often be the one coating Spud in jelly.