“Yes, and Tadark has so many sweet things planned for our married life,” Kalem was saying, her cheeks pink and her light gray eyes misty. “He’s in the Elite Guard, you know, and well-off financially, and he’s chosen this beautiful house for us, for our family. He wants to have as many children as we can, you see. He’s accustomed to a large family—eight older brothers, he has, can you imagine?”
“I wish you the best of luck keeping them straight.” Tiersia laughed. “And I hope for your sake none of them are twins! I’m afraid I’ll never be able to tell Galen’s sisters apart—he’s always correcting me, and I feel such a fool!”
“And how are you finding married life, Reveina?” I asked, taking the initiative since my friend was behaving so oddly.
“Oh, it’s fine, really, thank you.”
“And what is your husband’s work?”
“Lord Marcail is a military man.”
“Marcail? The Master at Arms?”
“Yes, he works in the city and is home most evenings. It is very fortunate.”
Though Reveina’s responses were polite enough, her tone was somewhat contrived, and she rarely met my eyes. Given her obvious reluctance to discuss her marriage, I did not pursue the topic further, but I also did not believe for a moment the pretense of happiness she was attempting to put forth. How could a man have reduced the audacious, charmingly self-important girl with whom I had grown up to this timorous shadow of a woman?
The conversation continued, and I learned that a date in November had been set for Galen and Tiersia’s wedding. The green-eyed brunette spoke fondly of the arrangements that had been made, of how Steldor would be Galen’s best man just as Galen had been his. Her manner showed no awareness of a rift between the two friends, and I wondered if she knew of their recent dispute, or if they had repaired their relationship so quickly that any tension between them had passed her notice. I couldn’t picture them staying mad at each other for long, and indeed, I still heard Steldor leave our quarters most evenings to relax elsewhere. It appeared all that was left was for the King and Queen to begin speaking to one another again.
“You must be in bliss, Alera,” Kalem said, then quickly corrected the way in which she had addressed me. “My apologies! Your Highness. You must be so happy, Your Highness. Your Royal Majesty. You’re the Queen now! And Lord Steldor is, no doubt, quite a king.”
There was a suggestive sparkle in her eye, suffused by silliness, which was enough to keep me from being uncomfortable.
“What happens between me and His Grace stays between me and His Grace,” I replied, playing along. I found it strangely enjoyable to pretend for a few minutes that I had a normal marriage, and my answer seemed to make her giddy.
“It’s hardly fair of you to have him all to yourself and not share a few secrets,” she replied.
I smiled at her daring in saying such things, feeling again like a young girl of fresh courting age.
“Very well, one secret,” I said, leaning forward and dropping my volume. “We all know His Highness is exceedingly talkative and charming, but only I know exactly how to close that lovely mouth.”
Kalem gasped, delighted that I would say something so outrageous. I silently assured myself that I wasn’t lying— Steldor often ended up storming out of the room when we were together, then would refuse to talk to me for days. If that didn’t qualify as closing his mouth, what did?
Tiersia, ever proper, seemed slightly ill at ease with the direction our conversation had taken, but the corners of her lips turned up nonetheless. Even Reveina emitted a hesitant laugh. Enjoying our new game, Kalem demanded a secret from our other tablemates in exchange for hers, which she swore would be well worth the price. Reveina appeared quite distressed at the idea, but Tiersia was intrigued enough to participate.
“If I share some information, you must never repeat it to a living soul,” she murmured, and we all nodded. “All right, then, Galen is dreadfully ticklish.”
She said “dreadfully,” but I could tell by her deepening color that she found this attribute endearing. We chuckled and teased her before turning to Reveina, who instantly rebuffed us.
“Oh, I shouldn’t, I couldn’t. My lord would not like it if I spoke of him.”
There was an awkward hush, during which Reveina glanced around the table, then cast her troubled brown eyes on the linen tablecloth.
“Very well,” Kalem said brightly, trying to restore the atmosphere. “On to my secret.” She grinned and motioned us all closer. “Tadark has a tattoo, on his left shoulder blade,” she imparted, knowing the fact that she had seen his back bared would, in and of itself, raise eyebrows. “But that’s not the very best part. Guess who convinced him to get it?” She waited, building the suspense, then exclaimed in a whisper, “The King and the Sergeant at Arms!”
I frowned, perplexed, wondering when Steldor and Galen had made time to spend with Tadark, then enlightenment came as to how Steldor had always seemed to know so much about my activities during the time of our courtship. My sometime bodyguard obviously had been spilling information, probably desperate to be on good terms with the two most admired young men in Hytanica.
“They went to the pubs together one night,” Kalem went on, shamelessly enjoying how masculine her betrothed sounded in that sentence. “And eventually, Steldor and Galen got to talking about their tattoos. They persuaded Tadark to get an identical one—same design, same location, everything.”
Tiersia shot me a questioning glance, and I knew that she, too, was not aware of any tattoos borne by her man. It was possible, of course, that Galen had such a mark unbeknownst to her, for it was not likely she had seen his bare back. But I was not ignorant of Steldor’s physique, despite the fact that we had yet to share a bed, for I had seen him without his shirt many times. I had never noticed a blemish, let alone a tattoo, upon his torso. I cringed, guessing Tadark had not seen the tattoos, and hoping the men with whom Tiersia and I were involved, men who were known to be occasionally unruly, had not taken advantage of their naïve companion. Even though I found Tadark intolerable, he did not deserve to be victimized by Steldor and Galen. The true irony was that at the time of the incident Kalem was describing, Tadark would have outranked them both.
“And what is the tattoo?” Tiersia hesitantly asked.
“It’s a Latin word—virgo.”
I could say with certainty that neither Steldor nor Galen would have had that word tattooed anywhere on their bodies. Tadark had not grown up a nobleman and, therefore, had probably never been taught even basic Latin, while Kalem had always been too fanciful to pay much attention to her lessons. It was unlikely that she would recognize what her beloved had been coerced into slapping on his back.
“I think it means man, or manly,” Kalem finished proudly.
Though Reveina remained withdrawn, Tiersia and I covered our mouths to hide our amusement. Kalem’s mistake was an easy and unfortunate one. Viro meant man; virgo meant virgin. Steldor and Galen would have known this full well, just as Tiersia and I did.
“How wonderful,” Tiersia said, the first of us to recover her poise, clearly feeling it was not her place to correct Kalem’s misconception. I likewise held my tongue.
I rose to my feet and, in so doing, freed my guests from the tables to move about the room. As they conversed, I wove among them, extending congratulations on marriages and betrothals, and gathering news about their families. When fatigue set in, I indicated to Destari that I wished to bring the event to a close. He summoned Lanek, who stepped into the room to inform the guests of my impending departure.
“Noble ladies, Her Majesty Queen Alera takes her leave with a prayer for your continued well-being.”
The women curtsied and I withdrew, dawdling in the corridor to give an instruction to Destari before proceeding to my drawing room in the East Wing. It was perhaps ten minutes later when Reveina appeared at my door.
“You wished to speak with me, Your Majesty?” she hesitantly inquired.
> “Yes, I thought we could visit more privately.”
I came around my desk, motioning toward the seating area in front of the bay window, and we sat down next to each other on the sofa.
“You’ve changed,” I commented, uncertain how best to proceed.
“My apologies, Your Highness, if my disposition was not pleasing to you,” she replied, eyes on her folded hands where they rested in her lap.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, worried about her. “There’s no need for that. I just wish I understood the reason.”
“I’m married now,” she said, as though that fact explained everything. “It was time to stop being a little girl.”
“Of course, but being married doesn’t mean you have to be unhappy.”
She was startled by my simple statement, and her eyes for a moment flitted to the courtyard that was visible through the window, betraying a desire to escape.
“What would make you think me unhappy?” she finally stuttered.
“Am I wrong?”
She began to pluck at the fabric of her skirt, a sign of distress with which I was familiar. Sadness filled me, for I could hardly detect in her a trace of the girl I had known but a few months ago.
“I—I am married,” she said again, and I had the impression this was now a rote response to any inquiries into her well-being. “This is who I am now.”
“Is it your husband?” I pressed, taking her hands in mine.
At my touch, her breathing quickened, and she struggled to control her emotions. I put my arms around her, and she lost the battle she was waging, breaking into tears. She covered her face with her hands, and I stroked her hair as I waited for her to quiet. When she had calmed, I tried again, knowing that what I was asking was intrusive.
“Does your husband mistreat you?”
“He disciplines me,” she managed, sitting up and taking a rattling breath. “I try to—to be obedient, but there are more rules than I can remember. It’s too much—I can’t do it. I can never do it. Alera…I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
I was scared and infuriated. How could a nobleman, a military man or, for that matter, any man, treat his wife so poorly? I was suddenly filled with appreciation for my spouse, toward whom I sometimes failed to show the proper respect but who had not laid a hand on me.
“Reveina, don’t say you’re sorry. That isn’t discipline. It’s cruelty.”
“I don’t know how to please him. I’m terrified when he comes home, when I should be happily welcoming him. He’s not a bad man—he’s well respected within the military, and he’s a good provider. I know if I were a better wife, he would not deal with me so.”
Her words made my stomach turn, for the idea that she thought she might somehow deserve such treatment was revolting. She looked at me desolately, and I wanted so badly to keep her from him, to keep her safe.
“Beg pardon, Your Majesty, but I really should go. I must be home before Lord Marcail returns at the end of the day.”
I nodded, not wanting to cause her further problems. I came to my feet, prompting her to rise, as well.
“I don’t know what I can do, but I will try to find a way to help you, Reveina. You shouldn’t have to live like that.”
“Oh, please do not,” she implored, catching my arm tightly as I made to walk toward the door. “He will only learn that I complained of him.”
I gently pried her fingers loose. “I swear I will not endanger you.”
I stayed in the Queen’s Drawing Room for a long time after Reveina’s departure, reflecting on her ghastly revelations. I had said I would do what I could for her, but what exactly was within my means? To offer her a shoulder upon which to cry? An occasional safe haven? Such assistance was feeble at best and did not change the fact that she could not leave her husband; her reputation would be ruined. I hated that I had made a seemingly empty promise.
I tried to think of anyone who could help me. Whom had I consulted in the past? London? But he was gone, locked away in Cokyri, a sickening thought despite Narian’s assurances. My mother? But she had not been herself since Miranna’s kidnapping and would have little ability to assist in this matter in any case. My father? We were still not on the best of terms, and his views of women were such that he would side with the man by default in any quarrel. Then it came to me, and I hurried into the corridor.
I went through the antechamber into the Hall of Kings, then turned right to knock on the captain’s door and was greatly relieved when he bade me enter. He sat behind his desk, quill in hand, scratching out words on the parchment before him, and I knew how fortunate I was to have caught him alone. He glanced up at me fleetingly.
“Is there something I can do for you, Your Highness?” He set his quill down and leaned back in his chair, eyeing me.
“Yes,” I said, crossing to stand in front of the desk. “I seek some advice…perhaps some assistance.”
“Of course.” He rose, beckoning me to a chair, and I sat while he resettled himself behind the desk.
“The Master at Arms, Lord Marcail,” I began, wasting no time with pleasantries, fully aware of the rarity of gaining the Captain of the Guard’s full attention during such a trying time for the kingdom. “He is a severe man.”
“He is a good military man. Do you have a quarrel with him?”
“No,” I said automatically, then doubled back. “Well, yes. Not personally, but…yes.”
I looked down at my hands, uncertain how to proceed. As Cannan had implied, Marcail was a valued component of his military force. I did not want to offend the captain with what I had to say, but there was no way to guarantee I would not. Still, I had reason to hope that he would identify with Reveina’s situation; after all, Baelic had told me that their father had “employed the method too liberally.”
The captain did not prompt me; he waited for me to gather my thoughts, even though he probably had other things he would have preferred doing.
“Lord Marcail took a wife early this summer, my friend Lady Reveina,” I said, for he would appreciate the direct approach. “I have concerns regarding his treatment of her. I believe he is too hard on her.”
“I see. In what way?”
“I saw her just an hour ago. She was bruised about the face, and when I asked after her well-being, she became quite distraught. She did not wish to speak poorly of her husband, but she told me he frightens her and that she dreads his return home at the end of the day. He strikes her more than he should, I know it. I want to help her, but am not certain how.” I paused, then took the plunge. “Could you—”
“I appreciate the position in which she finds herself,” Cannan said, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the surface of his desk, averting my request. “But I cannot interfere with how another man runs his household.”
His answer pierced me like an arrow, and I fought down tears as I searched for a way to convey to him the urgency of the situation, the absolute necessity of coming to Reveina’s aid.
“She is already not herself—he’s well on his way to destroying her. I can do nothing on my own, yet she has no one else to whom she can turn. Surely there is something you can do.”
Cannan gave a minute shake of his head, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
“I’m sorry, but they are married. It is his family, and it is his business how things are conducted in his home. It’s not my place, or yours, to get involved.”
“I know it is his family and his home, but it is her home, as well. Why should she have to live in fear? She will feel his fist every day, and suffer, every day, while we sit and say we cannot interfere. Lord Marcail is the master of the house, he is entitled to punish his wife. But when she is perfect and obedient, and still he beats her, what then? I’m not asking you to arrest him or remove him from his position. All I am asking is that you contemplate any means you might have to alleviate her circumstances. Please. I beg of you.”
I waited in silence after my heartfelt speech for some r
eaction from him and thought I detected sympathy in his visage, although it was impossible to determine whether it was for me or for Reveina.
“Alera,” he said, and the softness of his tone gave away his intention. “I don’t approve of the treatment you’re describing, but you’re overestimating my power in this matter. I can do nothing.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that he was the Captain of the Guard and therefore Marcail’s superior officer, and that he was not helpless in this or any situation. But his manner told me he considered our discussion concluded, and I had no choice but to accept it. I stood and walked through the door, heart laden with defeat, railing in my head against the unfairness of a world that would place my lovely friend in the hands of such a man.
CHAPTER 18
A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE
I SWIPED AT MY EYES AS I LEFT THE CAPTAIN’S office, forbidding myself to cry. Tears would serve no purpose, and they undermined my ability to be taken seriously. Although Destari looked at me questioningly, he did not ask about my business with Cannan, merely stepping forward to close the door behind me.
I glanced about the Throne Room, surprised to find it devoid of activity, although I supposed the war had altered everyone’s routines. Deciding to consider my options in the peace and privacy of the library, I moved toward the King’s Drawing Room, thinking I would pass through it and take the spiral staircase to the second floor. When I neared the dais, I heard a door open, and Steldor emerged from his study, Casimir at his heels. He took note of me at the same moment and waved his bodyguard away. Though Casimir regarded the King with a certain amount of skepticism, he went on to the captain’s office. Steldor then dismissed Destari, who walked through the drawing room to wait in the corridor, leaving me alone with my husband.
Steldor came forward to lean against the edge of the dais, adjusting the leather bracers on his forearms while I waited self-consciously to see if he would speak. I was already upset and had no desire to feel worse, so was less than enthused about talking with him. I began to count my heartbeats in my head, planning to dash when I hit ten if he hadn’t addressed me before then.