My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Before either woman had a chance to hide under covers, or slip into another room, or even fall apart, the door cracked open and Rosamund's heart plummeted into her gut. Her father's cheerful smile turned at first towards the desk where no one sat, before he glanced upon his daughter being eaten out by an assassin.

  "Holy Maker!" Alistair shrieked, hopping backwards while slapping a hand over his face.

  "Father," Rosie scrambled to find anyway to cover herself, her panicked fingers attempting to yank up the blanket she sat upon.

  "That's...I, uh, I wanted to talk to you, but..." her father was babbling in fear while he kept walking backwards. He refused to take the hand away from his eyes so he kept ramming his heels right into the doorframe. "Damn it all," he cursed, his free hand fumbling to find the exit.

  "I was," Rosie tried to find an excuse, her eyes darting down to Anjali who froze like a deer that spotted a hunter.

  "We'll talk uh, we should talk. I'll be in my study," he finally managed to find his way out even while blindfolded and slammed the door hard.

  "Oh Maker," Rosie moaned, her head dropping to her chest. Her skin felt like a shallow mirror shattered into a million pieces, each strip of glass tumbling to the ground at her folly.

  "Was that...?" Anjali finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "The King?"

  Rosamund didn't answer her as she reached for clothing to shroud her shame. How was she going to be able to explain this? How would anyone ever understand? She torched everything in her life for just a foolish moment.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Who You Are

  Don't panic.

  Rosie's hands trembled so terribly she could barely manage to slip her dress back on. In the end, she required Anjali's help which did not make her feel any better. How could she have been so stupid? She should have locked the door. Waited until everyone was asleep. Used Myra's trick of that golden hour, or not...

  Not done a thing at all.

  Her eyes darted over to the assassin who was back in her leathers. "Stay here," Rosie ordered in her most certain voice while her entire body fell to pieces. What would her father say? What would he think? Her mother too. They'd been planning for her ascension to the throne since the day she was born and now it may have all been for naught. Would they be furious at her butchering things so thoroughly without a care?

  Rosie dashed to the stairs, when she glanced back to find Anjali following behind. "I thought I told you..."

  "You're whiter than milk and shaking like a newborn kitten. I am not letting you go into this alone," the woman asserted as if she'd take on the King of Ferelden himself for Rosamund. For a brief flicker the panic dissipated and she couldn't deny a small smile at the romantic thought, but it was foolish. Anjali standing around would only make things worse.

  "I'll be fine," she insisted, taking the stairs up to her father's study. She didn't know how to read his hiding away there. Would he have already gathered up the Queen for a proper talking to or did he intend to drag it out?

  "Says the lamb right until the axe comes out," Anjali whispered, not leaving Rosie's side. She wished the woman would listen to her, having her around would only exacerbate the issue but...she didn't want to be alone either.

  The antechamber's door was open, candles in the sconces lining the walls all lit up, but her father's door was oddly closed. He was very much a 'my door is always' open type, though the people around him practically never took him up on it. It was a rare mood for him to think it worth shutting tight.

  Maker, she was so screwed.

  Taking a deep breath, Rosie tried to not imagine a corset squeezing ever tighter around her chest until ribs began to creak and snap. A hand landed upon her shoulder, shaking away the sputtering breath in her lungs and she turned to Anjali's umber eyes. "You don't need to do this alone," she insisted.

  Rosie cupped her fingers with hers and smiled sadly, "I do. I am the Princess, after all. But..." she bit into her lip and waffled on her bare feet, "can you stay out here for a bit?"

  "If I hear any screaming I shall break the door down," Anjali promised.

  The Princess didn't kiss her goodbye as she stepped across the cold stones of her father's normally warm and welcoming office. What would they demand of her for this? She wouldn't let Anjali be punished, even if it meant...sending her away. Banishment seemed possible, and no doubt her mother would whisk her off to the chantry altar to be wed to whatever man they picked at random. Anything to keep her focused on what mattered, the crown.

  Happiness was incidental in this life.

  Rather than knock, Rosie tugged up the latch and slipped into her father's study. Her eyes darted right to the arm chair in front of the fire, but no one sat inside it. A shadow loomed beside the desk, his back turned to her, when she heard a clink of glass striking.

  With each step into the shaded room, Rosie felt her very being fall behind. Those moments of bliss stolen in Anjali's arms shed from her, leaving a porcelain and untouched skin in its wake. Coming to a stop right behind her dad's favorite chair, Rosie stretched her neck up.

  "Father," she said. He leapt nearly straight into the air at the sound and whipped back, clearly not having heard her come in.

  "Maker's sake, you could have knocked!" he gasped, a hand lain to his chest.

  "I'd say the same for you," she said, her rebellion tossing out the taunt before it had to be shut down entirely.

  Her father snickered a moment and raised a glass at that, "Fair enough. Here." Quickly he filled a second glass up to the brim with an amber liquid, probably rum. While most nobility scoffed at the pirate drink, it seemed to become her father's favorite.

  It was to Rosie he passed the filled glass, his eyes darting over the liquor sloshing into her surprised fingers. "Drink first," he jerked his head to his own glass that was probably on its second refill. She stared deep into the dark honey swirls, struggling to find an opening. What could she say? What excuse could possibly exist to explain away that?

  The King finished taking a long drink and wiped off his mouth. With his back turned to her, he sighed, "Out of all of you, I always thought Cailan would be the one I'd walk in on." A laugh shook his shoulders and he dipped his head down, "I love him, but that kid is...as subtle as a cat in heat really."

  Tipping her head back, Rosie let half of the glass burn its way down her throat. When it struck her stomach the butterflies exploded into angry hornets, each one ricocheting up her chest. They stung into her heart, causing Rosie to wince as she stared at her father's back. How many times had she sat upon those shoulders or stacked pillows upon it to make a fort out of him? How much of her silly, childhood creations did he have as keepsakes in his personal study?

  She knew he loved her, adored her the way fathers are supposed to love their children.

  How much of that did she destroy without a thought?

  "I'm..." Rosie began, the tears warbling in her throat, "you weren't supposed to see that."

  "I'd certainly hope so," Alistair gasped, finally turning around. His hair was yanked straight up and the knotted bits on his shoulders were both undone as if he tried to pluck himself as far from the crown as possible.

  "Dad," she should apologize, insist it was a moment of frippery, nothing more. That it would never occur again. Rosie tried to open her mouth, to get any of it out, but all those hornets clogged inside her throat. "I'm sorry," her heart broke in two, tears sliding off her cheeks. One landed inside the glass, the amber liquid quaking in her grip.

  This wasn't how a princess behaved. She couldn't cry all over an Arl or Teyrn. She had to be strong, and unbendable. With all the pathetic strength inside of her, Rosamund lifted her head to face her father. He may have been startled by her tears, she could barely see him through the rain.

  "I'm sorry for disappointing you."

  "Oh," he placed his glass down and dashed towards her. Strong arms that'd helped her fight off dozens of imaginary foes wrapped tight around her, "Oh Spuddy, no.
" Her dad squeezed tight as he repeated, "No, no. Don't be silly. You've done nothing of the kind."

  "But I..." she gasped in shock. Did he not understand? Maybe he thought Anjali was not a woman. That seemed a reach but it was possible.

  "It was awkward, and on me. I'll admit to that one. You damn kids, you keep growing up and reminding me I'm old," her dad was babbling but he refused to stop hugging her tight. "Spud," he drifted back a step, those oaky and safe eyes darting down to hers. "You can't disappoint me. Not with...not with something like that. Putting your brother in a pickle barrel and nailing the lid on, now that's a disappointment. And a very long punishment."

  She snorted at the memory, tears leaking from her eyes. Slowly, her dad released his grip to try and pull back her hair and wipe away her crying. "I thought, I didn't want to-to ruin things by being..."

  "Who you are?" he laughed a bit, tears stinging in his eyes at the foolishness. "Oh kid, come here," her dad said as if he wasn't in full control by wrapping his arms back around her. "I love you, you know. It's why I'm such a pain in the ass when you do things that might get your butt in trouble. And I am so proud of you."

  All her life her father was huge. He was King, he was a great war hero, he was a pair of legs that'd stomp around while his kids hung on for dear life. As she came to study politics, to understand the crown to be placed upon her head, watched her father fumble with matters, he began to shrink. To become ordinary.

  Now...her heart swelled with pride to think she'd not disappointed this gargantuan of a man. That he loved her even if she couldn't be the perfect Queen everyone hoped for.

  "I love you too, Dad," Rosie gasped burying her face, mottled by tears, against his chest. He let her stay there, wetting his good doublet with salt water, while he slowly bobbed back and forth to his own song. It took her sometime to slow the throbbing in her heart, each hornet slowly metamorphasizing into a beautiful lunar moth.

  When she felt she had control of herself, Rosie stepped back, her dad letting his arms fall to the side. He watched her a moment before tipping his head towards his chair, "Wanna sit for a bit?"

  "Yes," she smiled. While her dad plopped into his favorite chair right by the fire, Rosie tugged one of the side ones closer. She hadn't done this in years. How often would she slip her nanny or mum to dash up the stairs into her father's study? And he'd turn from whatever important business he had to ask those same words, "Wanna sit for a bit?"

  Curling her bare feet up under her, Rosie sighed, "I feel as if I should have a hot chocolate with me."

  "I bet I could wrangle one out of the kitchen if you'd like," her dad smiled at her.

  "No," she picked up the half full glass of rum and sighed, "this is plenty." After swirling it for a moment, Rosie glanced over at her father, "You don't seem to be surprised that I was...with another, um..." The words froze in her throat, her mind unable to wrap around the bare fact of what she was, but her father snickered, somehow already used to it all.

  "Spuddy, come on. It's kinda obvious. Remember that one girl you were obsessed with when you were seven, eight? Something like that."

  Abigail. She remembered her well.

  "You wanted your hair braided just like hers. Had to wear the same clothes. Needed to invite her to all the fancy tea parties at the palace. When her parents returned to Orlais, and you were inconsolable for weeks, I kinda figured it out."

  Rosie blinked in the low firelight. She'd thought of Abby as a friend, a friend she desperately wanted to like her but the way good friends do. Never as anything more, even if she did find the girl... Maker's sake. She softly touched her cheeks to find them burning. Was that her first crush? And she didn't even realize it but her father did?

  "I don't understand, Dad. If you knew I was, that I preferred...girls," she laughed at being able to get the truth out, plain as day. Rosamund preferred girls, women. Oh blessed Maker. "Then why," she tried to shake off the giddiness to focus on Alistair, "why put it on me to choose a husband?"

  At that he sighed and stretched his back up higher in the chair.

  "It would have saved me some heartache, especially from mom if...if you'd picked someone."

  He twisted his foot back and forth on the floor as if part of him wanted to dance away, "Spuddy, it's not that... I suspected, I didn't know. I mean, some people like both, maybe you did..." He waved his hand towards her and she dropped her head down. "That's okay. I guess, I didn't want you to feel forced into something you didn't wish for."

  Rosie sucked in a breath, her eyes darting up to stare at him, "Like you were?"

  Her father sighed and swallowed hard, attempting to dodge, "You know I have respect for your mother. Great respect."

  "But you don't love her," she wet her lips, her head rocking with the truth.

  Alistair raised up higher in his chair, a hand lifting as if he would love to be able to argue the fact. They never flat out said anything about it, but the kids all knew. Looking at his eldest who would be facing the same, he sighed, "No, no I don't. I never have."

  "I used to hate Reiss," Rosie sputtered out, her fingers gripping tight to the glass. She stared at the amber liquid because she couldn't face her father. On the periphery she felt him growing insular, one of the reasons she'd never told him any of her feelings about his elven lover. "I wanted you and Mom to be together, to be the way other families are supposed to. To love. For you to not keep leaving to be with the other family, the one you wanted to have."

  "Spud..." her dad began to reach out to try and comfort her, when Rosie lifted her head.

  "But I understand now. To, to face a life of being trapped in name only with someone you don't care about while the one you want is elsewhere."

  "I wish you didn't have to," her father groaned. "I wanted better for you. For you to-to have a chance to pick someone, that you liked, someone you loved and could raise a brood of children with. I do want grandkids, by the way."

  "I know, Dad," Rosie smiled. Her father was a baby magnet. Anyone carrying a child in their arms or on their breast would have the King flock to their side. He'd stop court dead to scoop a baby up and carry it around to stop it from fussing.

  "That's why I kept putting it off, and then when you got old enough it made sense to even all the fusspots to let you choose. But if you're only into..."

  "I know," Rosie nodded, well aware of the monumental issue before her. "I know I shall choose a man for my husband, and there will be heirs."

  He smiled wide at that, his teeth slightly purple from no doubt some candy the cook made special for their King. "Kid," he inched forward a bit in his chair to grip onto her knee, "don't give up who you are. Cling to it every day that you can, because that damn crown that's way too heavy and makes my ears throb will steal it from you."

  "Is that what you found in Reiss' arms? When you'd spend time with Myra?" she lifted her head to look him right in the eye, "Yourself?"

  "No," Alistair smiled sadly while brushing away Rosie's tears, "I found myself every time I got to tell you a bedtime story, or chase you down the hall, or watch you doodle all over my missives. You, Spud, you were my life from the moment you popped into this world. And you always will be."

  She couldn't cease the tears now, her heart practically bursting at the thought while both leaned across the gap to embrace. Why did she even question her father turning from her? He adored her, and Cailan, with everything inside of him. A little bump in her life wouldn't toss her father aside. Not for anything.

  Her father patted into her back one last time, about to let go, when he asked, "But did it have to be an assassin?"

  As Rosie slid back into her chair, she couldn't stop the smile rising inside of her blood. "Yeah," she nodded vehemently, thinking of her assassin standing just outside the door. She couldn't wait to tell Anjali the good news. "Yeah, it did."

  Wiping away all the burst of joyful tears on her cheeks, Rosie placed the glass down and stood. Her father was sighing and tipping his head back, "You women and
assassins. I swear to the Maker."

  She laughed at him putting on a frowning face for the thought. "I should check on her." Make certain she didn't try to break down any doors in a panic.

  "We ought to meet, really talk. Probably tomorrow, when the full awkwardness has had a chance to wear down a bit. I've got to make certain she's good enough for you and all," her dad smiled, finding nothing odd about the thought at all.

  A gratefulness burned inside of Rosie like an unquenchable flame. She almost reached the door, when a thought caused her to pause. "Dad?" he looked up at the mention, his eyes blinking, "Why did you burst in on me in the first place? You said we needed to discuss something?"

  She expected it to be a matter for latter, perhaps something involving her trip, but her father changed in an instant. His eyes hooded to shadows and shoulders shrunk deep dragging his neck with. "Yeah," he tugged on his hair, causing Rosie's mouth to dry out. "Yeah, we do. And, you need to sit for this."

  Her fingers drifted off the handle of the door, Rosie walking stiff legged back to the chair.

  With a voice brimming in dread, her father began, "First off, you know I love you kids more than life itself..."

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  What's In A Name

  Myra spotted her brother peeking around the corner into their father's study, his drunken shoulders shaking with uncontrollable laughter at something that caught his fancy. "Hey," she called to him, causing Cailan to whip around in surprise as if she just snagged him doing something underhanded. Standing around waiting for their dad seemed the most benign option her brother could get up to.

  "What's going on?" Myra mouthed while her brother tried to shush her.

  Inside, a great groan erupted that didn't sound a thing like their dad. He'd vanished off the dance floor after the Queen came bounding down in excitement. Normally, Myra wouldn't much care about the concerns of that side of the family and would have found something better to do, but she caught Gavin orbiting near his parents and worried that his mom might start asking her questions. Questions she didn't have an answer for.