My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  The King seemed to share in the sentiment while he kept pacing back and forth, his shoes kicking up in the air as if trying to knock the thick air away. "Dead, without anyone to...and it's just funny, right? What a great deal for her. Slot in whoever I want as if it blighted works that way and..." he slapped both his hands over his face and moaned something incoherent.

  He stood like that for a few minutes, moaning into his palms and rocking back and forth at his core as if trying to find a semblance of balance. Slipping closer, Reiss paused near the man and whispered a single, "Ser?"

  It took a beat before his hands fell down. There were no tears, but his eyes were ravaged by pain -- red as a drunkard's with darkness circling under them. With a calm move, Reiss scooped up his hand and patted it. "I'm sorry I don't have any carrots on me."

  A brief snicker broke through the tumult burning across his face. He looked like a man shrieking into the void beneath a mask of calm. Alistair tugged his hands back and raked up his hair until it floofed beyond reach. "They're not fancy enough for party food. Rye crackers either, apparently."

  "I..." she blinked in surprise at his remembering, "you did not need to remove Bann Declan from the premises for my sake."

  Alistair waved his hand, "Believe me, it was a gift for me. Maybe one of the best gifts I could hope for. Every birthday I should send for Declan just to have the guards drag him away."

  She smiled and laughed at the sentiment, "But, I wanted to thank you for it. For listening."

  A staggered breath puffed out of his mouth, as those playful eyes sobered up while gazing into hers. "You're welcome, Ser Reiss. Happy to use my weight to do something good for once."

  Standing so close, she could reach over and skim her fingers along his jaw, feel that gritty scratch of human facial hair and then... Reiss shook the idiotic thought off. She was ripped apart from Ethan and Declan, hoping to find some distraction to wash the taint away. The King's eyes darted up to the stars as a silence fell between them, not an awkward one as each prayed for the other to fill it, but a clean rinse. Suddenly he smiled up to his eyes and he tapped his fingers against his arm, "Hear that?"

  "What?" Reiss began before her ears finally caught on to the music wafting through the door.

  "They're playing our song," Alistair chuckled. Sure enough, it was the same one Reiss trained to in her tiny music box but now with the full body of a real orchestra instead of tiny magic. She smiled along, tapping her foot to the beat notched in her soul.

  "So, uh," he ruffled up his hair and carefully extended a hand to her, "do you want to have a go?"

  Reiss glanced back at the piles of gentry waiting for their King to return. None had their noses plastered to the glass, but surely someone was watching, wondering, waiting and... As she returned to the earnest face, as wholesome as a sunflower in a field, barely holding it together from the swarm of darkness creeping underneath, Reiss nodded. Alistair smiled while she tugged off her gloves and tossed them to the ground. Glancing over at the man in his finery, Reiss undid her vambraces as well, the metal clanking in the cold night as it bounded into the stones.

  "Are you ready, Ser?" she asked, raising her fists up.

  "As I'll ever be," he said back, quickly lashing out with a punch. Reiss blocked it, but there was a force there she hadn't felt before. He needed this, needed to fight it out of himself so he could waltz back into the grand ballroom and be his cheeky self. It was nothing for the guardswoman to risk a few bruises here and there in service of her King.

  Alistair was fully on the offensive, his fists pounding slowly but with enough force if one actually hit she'd be in trouble. "Maker's blighted bloody," he cursed at first under his breath, but the anger grew with each punch, "Motherless, alone, no one to muster up a care if you've skinned a knee, or gone hungry for two days, or fallen into the pig sty and have no idea how to get the shit out of your trousers!"

  It took her a moment to catch on that he wasn't referring to his children. Even if the Queen had perished they'd of course be coddled beyond measure by the aristocracy. But, she knew that feeling, a terrifying helplessness when the world beats against you and there's no one in your life you can lean on anymore. Where in your heart you know you're a child, but the world doesn't care. None ever cared, only used her for their own gain, their own bragging rights because she was easy to bend and twist into the right shape. She was so fucking eager to please, just wanting someone, anyone to Maker damn care for once.

  Her fist smashed into the King's stomach, all her force behind it as another feral roar erupted in her throat. Alistair was quick to dodge back, but he had to take a lot of it. At first, Reiss dropped her hands about to apologize, but the man shook it off without a thought and returned for more. There was no pretense now, no polite fisticuffs and shifting feet in a circle - they were both fighting as if their lives depended on it, their pain driving them beyond thinking.

  Alistair's attacks sped up, his right hook slicking past her jaw but she felt the pain of his knuckles ringing through her teeth. Pushing back, Reiss knew she was giving up more and more territory to the mad man, retreating to a safer distance with each swing while she tried to think, to plan. To save herself. Like striking a flint, the fire inside of her erupted. Her once methodical attacks learned and measured to the templar beat shattered apart. She leapt forward, a fist hitting air, but another striking meat. Didn't matter what, didn't matter who as long as it protected them.

  Survival.

  Red flared in her vision, winnowing it down upon the shadow of the attacks upon her and she spun in place. Her foot knocked into his knees, a pop reverberating through the courtyard. It was enough to fell her quarry and...oh Maker, the King fell backwards to the cold ground. His head didn't bounce against the stone, but he groaned in a hiss when his back made contact.

  Reiss' internal monster scampered away leaving her dumbstruck and terrified. "Sire, are you...? Maker, I'm so..."

  A laugh rumbled up the man's chest as he lay prostrated across the ground. He had his hands curled in fists against his chest as if afraid she might keep attacking, but didn't seem about to rise. "I'm guessing we both needed that," Alistair raised his head up and he beamed that sugar sweet smile upon her. She should be panicking beyond measure, she'd just kicked a King to the ground, but internally Reiss melted to a blushing maiden from the way he looked at her.

  "It helped, a lot," she admitted. "I...I should help you up." Maker's sake, Reiss. Focus.

  Bending over, she extended her hand to the King, but she didn't anticipate him rising up off the ground. He rose so quickly, he nearly smashed his forehead into hers. Pausing a breath away, Reiss fell adrift in his brown eyes, an amber star shining behind each pupil.

  Take a chance. Be brash.

  Not thinking, she darted forward and caught his lips with hers. For a moment, he seemed shocked at her kiss, his mouth falling open, but with a heartbeat Alistair melted against her. Deepening the kiss, he pressed his soft lips tighter to hers. Maker's sake, he tasted of sprinkles, champagne, and an earthy clover. Reiss' skin erupted in goosepimples, her eyes shut so tight she could see stars forming behind the lids, while her stomach begged her to keep going.

  Sweet Andraste!

  Popping away, Reiss gasped at her impetuous, foolish move. She kissed him. A King. For the love of the Maker, you assaulted the bloody King of Ferelden! What was she going to do? What did anyone do? How many people kissed the blighter King of Ferelden?! Would he toss her out the same as the mage, as Declan? Flames, how could she...?

  Two hands wrapped around Reiss' back and without a care, the King tugged her back to him for a second kiss. Both of them fell to the ground, Alistair taking all the brunt, but he didn't seem to mind. His lips gently rolled across hers as if he was too scared to explore with his tongue. With one hand pressed to the frozen ground, Reiss pushed herself on top of him so she could rough her fingers against the prickling hairs upon his cheek. A moan reverberated up Alistair's throat, and as his mouth open
ed, she risked darting her tongue in with his.

  Releasing his hold on her back, the King swept both palms up her cheeks until he could bury them into her hair. He delved into her mouth with a hunger she thought only she tasted. Even through her greaves she could feel the stirrings of his lust prodding harder with anticipation and driving her own wilder. Maker, how badly had she dreamed of this? Wanted it? Hoped? Alistair's hands shifted onto her shoulders and began to slowly drift downward.

  "Daddy!"

  Holy shit! She'd never leaped so fast to her feet in her life, Reiss all but launching herself away from the King to trembling legs as the princess skipped across the dark courtyard to her father. Alistair sat up as all of the girl wrapped around him. "Spud," he said, somehow his voice not quivering in fear or...other things, "what are you doing down here?"

  "Seeing you," she stated the fact as if it was so simple.

  "You're supposed to be in bed, young lady," he pointed out the rules as if they were etched in stone.

  She groaned, her tiny hand mashing into her face before she too tugged her hair up the same way Alistair would when annoyed. "I can't."

  "Why?"

  "You didn't read me the story!" she pouted, her hand lancing across her hip.

  The King sighed and tugged his daughter off him while Reiss kept staring off into the cold night, hoping it would do something to break up the bright red blush charring her skin. Rising to his feet and groaning at the aches, he picked up his daughter's hand, "Let me guess, you ducked the queen's maids again." She shrugged as if skipping past women in charge of watching her was no big deal.

  "Come here," Alistair scooped her up into his arms, the girl squealing with delight from the attention of her father. "Don't get any ideas. I am taking you straight to bed, Tater Tot."

  Her bottom lip stuck straight out far enough a bird could perch upon it, but she didn't argue with him. Alistair chuckled at the girl's pouting and tousled her hair, "Right after I read from your book." That earned him a hug, chubby fingers wrapping around his neck and tugging him tight.

  Reiss was frozen in place, her mind uncertain what she should do. Would he pretend nothing happened? Would they continue on as before? Or...? She turned from her gaze out at the silent and frosty gardens to catch his eye. A small glimmer shone in them and he smiled. "I have to put this little escape artist to bed. Yes, you're going to bed, there will be no cake, nor dancing no matter how much you try to wheedle it out of me. And then..." he leaned closer to Reiss, "we'll talk."

  Her lips still tasting of him lifted in a smile, "Of course, Ser."

  "Come on," he groaned, shifting the princess in his grip, "Don't tell me, you want to hear from the really, really big book of boring."

  "Yes, pwease!" the princess shouted out for the world to hear.

  Absently, Reiss picked up her abandoned gear and began to slot it into place. While she knew she should be panicking over what it meant for the future, all she wanted to do was twirl in ecstasy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Camping

  Unfortunately, after getting the princess to finally lay her head down and nod off, a dozen people rushed the King asking questions and insisting he return to make toasts. Alistair was so surrounded by the horde, he could only cast an occasional eye back at the woman trailing behind him, and shrug. Then he'd return to playing the genial idiot for the gentry who'd laugh uproariously. After the dance involving fire and kicking, the group of advisors, Arls, and King wound up in a drawing room, pretending to sample the notes of wines. She tried to hide a smirk when Alistair pulled out a bottle of koomtra and insisted it was an ancient blend from Tevinter.

  Reiss didn't realize she'd nodded off until the King gently squeezed her shoulder, startling her awake. "This is going to take, Maker only knows how long and we've got a long day ahead. If you want to head on up to bed, I'd advise escaping now."

  "Are you certain? I can stay and...?" she'd glanced around at the others all crumpling into balls at the koomtra's kick.

  "We'll try talking in the morning while everyone else is sleeping this off."

  She'd gotten through the long night surrounded by other shemlan by pretending none of it happened -- that she didn't roll around on the ground making out with the King -- but at the way his eyes seemed to be memorizing every line of her face, Reiss felt her heart surge. Trying to not blush she giddily drew to her feet and attempted to sleep with hope rising in her stomach.

  When she woke the next morning, bright enough eyed to be able to see and nothing more, she expected to have to wait an hour or so to rouse Alistair before they could discuss the kiss. Reiss slid out of her bed, her bare feet landing upon the cold stones when the King's wrathful voice echoed through the walls.

  "-- was I supposed to do, Eamon?"

  The Chancellor's more controlled tone dropped lower into a growl, "Do you have any comprehension of the damage you have done with our relations to the Enchanter's College?"

  "She threatened the life of the Queen. Maker's sake, I thought you'd be on my side for this one," Alistair thundered. Rising stiff legged up, Reiss cracked open her door and peered an eye out to watch the man pacing back and forth in his room. He wore the same outfit from the night before, but the buttons were all popped open, and he had a flour sack towel wrapped around his head. What did she miss?

  Eamon stood beside him, rooted to his spot against the agitated King. "That's what she said, exactly? A threat upon the life of Queen Beatrice?"

  "Well," Alistair's mad pacing slowed and he blinked against the man, "not in those words no, but that was the gist."

  "You would condemn a woman because of how you interpreted her words?"

  "There's no interpretation there. I know what she was getting at, thinking I'd have a jolly laugh at the idea of being a widower. And condemn? Not even close. Big deal, she's back to that tower up north. Oh, truly she's been tossed into the void itself with that punishment."

  Eamon didn't look about to budge, both hands pushing onto his cane, "Your Majesty, don't you think you're being a bit too harsh on the girl?"

  "No," Alistair twisted around. While Reiss had seen him on occasion snap at others, Eamon always received an almost bashful reverence from the man, but not this time. The King's face lit up with a simmering rage she only got a glimpse of...right before she kissed him. "I don't care if she thought it was all part of some flirty meandering on her part. She wished, imagined Spud without a mother. Whether that was malice or not, my head'll explode in hot bolts if I have to look upon anyone who'd do that."

  "Sire..."

  "I'll put up with a lot, Eamon. I have, over the years, done plenty of things you've all made me do," he paused and glared fully upon the old man, "Lanny for one." At that Eamon grimaced, his eyes racing towards the floor away from the King. "But I'm not budging on this. I don't care, let Fiona hate me. Maybe she'll finally get off her fancy throne and respond to a letter for once."

  "What shall we do about the vacancy? There are matters that require a mage's knowledge and it seems unlikely that the College will send another after this debacle," Eamon continued on. Reiss felt a breath escape through her clenched lungs, the man seemed willing to let Linaya's banishment hold. And Maker's sake, it wasn't as if the mage was any true rival for you. He never seemed to have any interest in her. But...did he have any interest in an elven woman serving as a bodyguard?

  Alistair stomped away from Eamon and glanced down his hallway. He must have caught the sliver of Reiss trying to stare through the gap as he closed his eyes, shrugged and slowly shook his head at her. They weren't going to be talking this morning either. Flipping around he picked up Eamon's conversation, "I don't care. Find a hedge witch, maybe ask one of the Dalish to pitch in. We'll find someone, or we'll manage as we did for the years as the College was figuring itself out."

  The Chancellor looked as if he wanted to grab the King by his collar and drag him to the corner for punishment, but instead he sighed, "As you say, Sire. We shall somehow ma
ke it work."

  A smart ass grin rose upon the King's cheeks and he whipped back, "Sorry I went and ruined the pool for everyone. I guess the castle will have to find someone else's personal life to bet on."

  "I..." Eamon rose up higher, his face unreadable but a hint of a blush broke upon his cheeks, "I have no recollection of what you mean."

  "Sure you don't. Andraste's sword, Philipe's gonna spit in my porridge for weeks now. Good thing I never eat it. Now, are we done or...?"

  "You are to dress quickly, the Dalish entourage is already waiting for the royal caravan outside the Denerim gates."

  Alistair scrubbed his face up and down with his hands, "Of blighted course they are. Right," he turned back to the peeping elf and gave a small signal between them. "Give me a few minutes to get things in hand and..." Before he could finish the sentence, three servants rushed in, all prepared to slap the King into his traveling gear as quick as possible.

  Groaning, the King gave into their machinations and Reiss slipped back into her room. Later. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to be seeing him on the trip to the wilds. They could talk later.

  It took half the day before Reiss realized that it was never going to happen. While she rode on a horse ahead of the King, he was continually flanked by people either checking on his status or needing to share upon their thoughts of the day. Even when they'd dismount to make camp, water their horses, or take a piss people would flag the man down and talk his ear off. Her only hope of being alone with him would be in either wandering off into the woods together -- certain to send every Bann and Dalish guardian into a tizzy -- or join him in his tent, which was also warmed by Arl Teagan and a few other important diplomats.

  She'd tried to act nonchalant for the first day, while wearing a secret smile to herself whenever glancing over and catching the King's eye. By the second, the secret smile faded and doubt crept into its place. He was being kind to her by ignoring the mistake, hoping that what she'd done would vanish into the ether if they both pretended it didn't happen. They were both besides themselves with anger and sometimes the brain would become uncontrollable during combat. It was foolish of her to think there was anything more to it than working off steam for a brief heat of the moment. Certainly no chance for a King to feel anything like butterflies lifting through his gut for a forgettable elf.