Chapter Text
She woke in the King’s bed that morning, her own looming above, unused.
They’d fallen asleep naked and tangled up together. As usual she found by the end of the night she’d twisted herself into a strange gown of bedsheets, not sufficiently covering to protect her modesty but not sufficiently open to leave her exposed. This had left him with nothing at all, lying peacefully and stoically on his back with her pressed up against him. She had her own bed for a reason.
He was still asleep, though she knew not for long. No matter how still she tried to keep herself, she knew he would stir shortly after she did. Battle-instincts, maybe. Paranoia, less likely. He never seemed to have a problem with the noise she made in the loft, but right beside him she could never keep him asleep.
So she decided to resign herself to it, gathering her swirl of blankets about herself and pressing lazily into his chest, humming softly. She could feel him wake, felt the breathing change under her ear. He didn’t move for a short while, simply let her lie there against the heat of his body.
“Good morning,” he said after a time. His voice was quiet; he knew she was awake.
She rolled over, face to face now. She extended her neck slightly, hovering above his mouth while she waited for silent permission. She got it in the form of his hand on her upper back, extra-gentle like she was made of glass. She kissed him. “Good morning.” Her head met his chest again, and his right hand naturally drifted up her shoulder. He stroked it lightly.
“This was a bad night for this.”
She smiled. “I found it a rather good night.”
“We both have an important day.”
She looked into his eyes. “You will be effortlessly regal, as you always are, and I shall smile nicely for an hour or two. Nothing difficult about it.”
“My dear, you would likely charm them if you arrived as you are and fell asleep in the gardens.”
“If I arrived as I was I’d do far more than charm them—”
“But,” He cut her off. “Charm cannot carry me on its own.”
She took one last moment pressed against his chest, said a silent goodbye to her lovely morning, and sat up. “No, it shan’t. What shall carry you is the gravitas of your station, the natural charisma I’m so keen on, and the abiding love of your people. And the support from your effervescent and charming wife.” He actually smiled at this, tired-looking though he was.
She climbed all the way out of bed now, letting the sheets and duvets slip to the bed or the floor as they would. A quiet yawn beckoned and she let it take her, though there may have been some slight exaggerating of the stretch for the King’s benefit.
She made her way up the stairs that spiraled up the outer edge of the bedroom.
She looked down from her balcony view to where he was still watching her go and blew a kiss over the bannister. He smiled again, but otherwise didn’t react except to turn away and leave her with only her own apartments as she closed the curtain.
Her bedroom was technically no more than a loft on the King’s suite, but was modest in name only. All of her apartments took up the better part of what they still called the Queen’s Tower, and a wall between her bedchamber and his was the only missing luxury – one neither very much missed.
A glance out the window told her it was far later in the day than she ought to have slept. She would have definitely been woken already if she hadn’t been with His Majesty the King. That thought caused her to smirk a little, though she didn’t like to make them worry.
Taking a guess, she called “Come on in” toward the servants’ entrance at the north end of the tower. Unsurprisingly, a tiny swarm of people came flooding up the stairs and the bustle instantly began. Clothes left their wardrobes, a bath was drawn somewhere behind her, and Vincent was staring at her more than a little reproachfully.
“Good morning to you as well, Vincent.”
“Your Royal Highness, I suspect I don’t need to tell you how important it is that –”
“No, you don’t.”
He bristled. “We don’t have much time and it is imperative that you—”
“No use arguing about it now.” She watched his face, searching for some way to respond to this that did not seem insolent. He let himself frown and quickly found something in the room to attend besides their conversation.
This was one of many parts of her day when she became almost released from her body – it was given over to servants and their gentle nudges, deferent little suggestions of how it should move and in what way, until it no longer seemed a part of her.
Eventually she was ready, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was wearing a pale pink gown – appropriate for the spring festival, and, coincidentally, a favorite color of her husband’s – with a lace bodice and a straight, flowing skirt. Her hair was pulled half back in a loose but controlled knot, pinned with a golden rose ornament she had seen a servant handling. On theme again.
She was to enter with the King, who was preparing or being prepared far out of her sight at the moment. They would only meet just before they made the entrance into the main gardens, from which he would speak and she would stand, beautiful and regal and, more important than anything else, beside him.
Vincent was still tapping his foot when she descended the staircase, a handful of the servants from the room trailing behind her. He was too discreet to make any expression at her attire, but she was observant enough to notice him studying the ensemble for apparent flaws. He must have either found none or thought better of revealing them.
Elizabeth met the King at the entrance to the gardens. His normal attire was fairly muted and dark, but today he was also in light colors. He offered an arm and she took it.
“Ready, my lord?”
“Ready as I’m able.”
They stepped into the garden together, blinking in the sunlight. There was a roar around them, cheering and the general sounds of the crowd. She released his arm and held back as he stepped forward to the large flowerbed at the edge of the garden’s balcony. People were packed into the gardens on every level, straining to see.
A servant was waiting for him at the edge of the flower bed, holding something. The King took the tiny sprout, barely beginning to show color, and held it gingerly. He planted it and gently tucked it into the soil. It would become the eighty-first rose in the bed, when it bloomed.
A cheer erupted, spreading backwards as the people too far away to see became aware that it was done. The roar died down enough that the King turned to address the crowd.
“Today is eighty-one years since reunification. We honor what we lost, celebrate what we have, and look ahead to a prosperous future. May the kingdom remain as one.”
The last line rumbled throughout the crowd, echoed at different times by those assembled. The cheers followed, and just like that the ceremony was over. She took her place at his side again and they made their way to the celebration arm in arm.
It was not a celebration for them, but as usual guests from neighboring lands were invited and present. Before long he was pulled away from her into political discussions that disguised themselves as idle chatter. She looked around for something to occupy her in the meantime.
“And this must be the rose of the festival herself.”
She turned toward the familiar voice and found Sir Theon grinning ear to ear. He had trimmed his beard since last they met, but otherwise he looked the same as always: angular features, bright yellow hair, and a roguish look in his eye.
She smiled in return, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it this year.”
“I would not dream of missing it. Not after an invitation arrived from none other than the Princess Consort.” He was invited every year, of course, but an opportunity for theatrics was never lost on Theon.
“I’m glad you’re here. I shall likely need you to rescue me from more than one conversation today.”
He nodded. “What is it about the Rose Festival that brings out the sycophants in droves? Perhaps it is because you never look lovelier all year, my lady.”
“Careful, now. If I didn’t believe you meant it I would need you to rescue me from yourself.”
He winked at her and offered an arm, and they began to explore the party together. They wove in and out of conversations, greeting courtiers personally, thanking visitors for making the trip, and echoing everyone’s celebrations. Theon was loud and boisterous, which made an excellent party companion for her. At a public event such as this, she often had quite the surplus of attention, and it was a relief to have any redirected.
She had lost track of him at one point, either greeting someone he knew or getting refreshment – she couldn’t remember which – when she became rather trapped in a conversation with a lord of some sort. He had quite a lot to say about the very fine details of the architecture which she could not and did not care to understand.
It felt like many, many minutes before she spotted Theon again, over the shoulder of the man to whom she was speaking. He was practiced at reading the plea in her face.
“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing as he gently wedged himself between her and the other man. “Forgive me for interrupting, but your presence is requested by His Majesty.”
She spoke quickly. “Alas, we shall have to finish this conversation later.” The man scarcely had time to do more than blink before she had walked off with Theon. They found a quieter spot on the edge of the crowd.
“Is it safe to assume I am under no such request?”
Theon looked at her with an exaggeratedly pensive face. “Oh, how silly of me. I’ve just remembered that the King does not need you after all.”
“A pity, honestly, I could use some pleasant company.”
“I cannot hope to replace His Majesty, of course…” He took a step closer. “But I may be able to help in that arena.”
“Here?” She glanced around. “Can’t you at least wait until later?”
“I leave tonight. Back north with my men.”
He did not often stay in the capital long, but less than one day was unacceptably brief. She took another glance around; no one was much noticing them. “At least find somewhere discreet.”
He grinned again, clearly having already expected this. He led her further away from the hum of people, into a sizable tent at the side of the grounds. There were shelves with supplies inside, tools to set up the Festival, but there was not a soul in sight.
She pulled him close and whispered, nearly pressed against him. “I still have appearances to make. I shouldn’t destroy my beautifully crafted face.”
He only smirked at this. Honestly, it was pointless teasing. Nine times out of ten Sir Theon would choose to turn his attention south, and she knew it.
Still, he bowed his head. “Of course, my lady.” Then he was on his knees.
He started with his hands, tracing a path up her inner leg from the ankle. He moved slowly, teasing her skin with the light brush of his fingers. He reached his destination and looked up into her eyes. Oh, how she loved that. She wondered if she looked the same when she looked into her King’s eyes. Pleading, wanting, but deferent above all.
“Proceed, Sir.”
He only undressed her to the extend it was necessary, tugging on her undergarments until she felt the open air. Then his fingers were playing about her. Gentle stroking more than anything, merely the preview of what could be had. Occasionally he slid a finger between her folds, light and fleeting. Her body grew warm. The agony of the teasing was beginning to take its toll.
“Am I to be kept waiting all day?” She leaned her head back against the shelf behind her.
He didn’t answer, only lifted the skirts of her gown every so gingerly to give his mouth the access he desired. Then he was vanished from sight and she leaned back farther to improve the angle. His tongue was clever in speech and perhaps cleverer here, though she’d never give him such a compliment. His ego did not need the fuel.
He let one of his hands find her rear, pulling her closer into him and fondling simultaneously. She felt as if he could take her whole weight in that hand, that she could lie back and he would still be holding her. He worked faster than before, and she was building in earnest now.
Then there was a noise from the back of the tent, past a second row of shelves.
Theon extracted himself from her skirts but stayed low to the ground, cocking his head toward the sound. She merely slumped against the shelves, heartbeat slowing and temper rising. She had been so close.
That was when he appeared, out from behind a banner half-stuck in the ground. A boy, perhaps 14. He looked terrified.
She merely regarded him. Theon rose to his feet.
“May we be of assistance?” His voice was bored, as if he’d just been interrupted during a game of croquet.
The boy turned white. “No, Sir – Your Majesty – milord –” His eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure to whom he owed his attention.
She stood up to her full height and placed a hand gently on Theon’s shoulder to indicate she was taking over.
“What’s your name?”
He shifted his weight. “Harold.”
“Well, Harold, you seem like an honorable man. I’m certain I can count on you not to spread any rumors of what you thought you saw here.”
He blinked a few times, then went pale as understanding arrived. “Oh, no, Your Majesty, of course, I would never –”
“Excellent.” She smiled: her softest, sweetest Princess smile. “You have my thanks, Harold.”
The boy positively beamed. She kept eye contact with him, and, after a moment when he did not take the hint, Theon made a small shooing gesture. Harold looked flustered, bowed as low as he could go, and made a hasty exit.
Theon turned back to her, smirking. “You might have killed him.”
She nearly rolled her eyes. “He should not be so easily rattled if he intends to get anywhere in the palace.”
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.” The last words dripped sarcasm.
“Oh, hush,” she snapped. “He’s a boy, of course his etiquette isn’t perfect.”
“I seem to remember a younger Lady of the court being much more severe about her ‘Royal Highness’es with me.”
She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him close. “That is because a young knight needs to address his betters properly, and should know well enough to do so.”
He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away at the last moment. “Face, remember?”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness.” No irony in the title now. “Shall we continue?”
She grabbed him before he reached his knees, gently pulling him up with a sigh. “No time, now. I can’t be away too long.”
He clasped his chest dramatically. “An arrow to my heart!” he crooned. “And on the day of the Rose Festival!”
She hit him lightly on the shoulder, though to no real purpose. She liked the teasing and he knew it. He stayed behind as she exited the tent, waiting to leave until they would not be seen together.
It was a little silly that they were being this cautious. Everyone who would care already knew, and no one who would dare had anything to say about it. Still, gossip at court is never one’s friend, no matter how harmless it begins.
By the time she returned there was music in the air; people were beginning to dance. Without warning, her husband appeared at her side. He held out a hand, inviting her to dance. She took it and followed him to the floor.
His face was all charm, but there was something of an air about him. It sped up her heartbeat as she let him guide her across the dance floor, gripped firmly in his arms.
“Did you enjoy Sir Theon’s company?”
It wasn’t clear whether he had spotted them or simply guessed at her interrupted plans by probability. “Not as much as I might have. We had unexpected visitors.”
“I would almost call it a pity, except that I’m rather glad to have you to myself again.”
She smiled. “Is my lord jealous?”
He laughed, soft and sweet. “How could I be jealous? There is nothing Sir Theon has that I do not.”
“Except, perhaps, my company. If I am with him, I am not with you.”
“Your reasoning fails to account for a simple fact.”
“And what’s that?” The conversation paused as he pushed her body away, spinning her round in a twirl that fluttered the folds of her gown.
“If you were to find yourself in Sir Theon’s rooms tonight, it would be as simple as my commanding you to return.” His grin had turned almost imperceptibly wicked. He had become very good over the years at communicating with her in small ways, invisible to the crowds.
Her heart had begun to race faster than the dance warranted, and she wished very badly she had not been interrupted in the tent. “And if I were to refuse?”
“My darling, I don’t think you would refuse, because you know that you are mine to command.”
She swallowed.
“In fact, you are thrice duty-bound to obey.” He pulled her just the tiniest bit closer. “As subject, your duty is to your sovereign. As Princess, your duty is to the crown.” He leaned close to her head, dropping to a whisper in her ear. “And as Consort, your duty is to your King.”
The dance had ended, suddenly. He pulled apart and she found herself lowered in a curtsy out of pure muscle memory. He was still smiling warmly to a casual observer, but a wicked glint remained in his eye. She struggled to keep the want out of her face.
She rose and took the arm she found offered for her. They made to exit the dance floor.
“I have never known you to be cruel, my lord,” she said, leaning over to him. “So I suspect and pray these are not idle threats.”
He met her eyes again, and laughed.