Queen of the Pale

by Sarah Hawke

  Once Rohen was finished, he stepped out into the corridor and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. No one caught you—no one will ever know what happened. All I have to do now is attend dinner, go to sleep, and ignore everything else she said. Even I’m not stupid enough to try and sneak out of my room and visit the High Queen in the middle of the night…right?

  Rohen knew the answer before he had asked himself the question. He was absolutely going to be there, even if it got him killed.

  3

  Wifely Duties

  Delaryn’s pulse was still pounding in her ears by the time she reached the great hall. She stopped at the far end of the corridor just beyond the sight of the guards, hoping that a brief pause would allow her to catch her breath and steady her hands. An electrical current tingled throughout her body, warming her despite the bitter cold drafts stirring through the keep. If she approached her husband like this, he would know something was wrong.

  Gods, what have I done?

  She closed her eyes and braced her palm flat against the nearest wall. Despite the cauldron of anxious dread boiling in the pit of her stomach, she still felt more alive than she had in months. For a few precious minutes back there, she had been in complete control of her life. She had been able to say and do whatever she wanted, and Rohen…

  Maiden’s mercy, he was everything she had remembered and more, from his rich voice to his perpetually tousled dark blond hair to his piercing emerald eyes. Just the thought of standing near him again sent a shiver of delight cascading through her.

  Delaryn swallowed heavily and nibbled at her lip. If they’d only had a bit more time, she would have begged him to touch her. She swore she could actually feel his strong hands sliding up her thighs and beneath her skirt—

  “Is there a problem, Your Majesty?”

  Sister Jorga’s haggish voice snapped Delaryn from her reverie. The queen opened her eyes and turned to see the priestess glaring at her from a few yards farther down the hall. The old biddy had probably been on her way back to the sitting room just to make sure the queen behaved herself.

  “Shouldn’t you be inside the hall already?” Delaryn asked.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing, Your Majesty,” Jorga said, her eyes flicking up and down the queen’s body in search of the slightest bit of ruffled fabric.

  “I am the High Queen of Darenthi, as you are so fond of forgetting,” Delaryn declared, crossing her arms and firing the sternest glare she could manage. “I go where I please when I please.”

  As usual, the priestess was not impressed. She continued her inspection without flinching in the slightest. “Where is your young Templar friend?”

  Delaryn felt her cheek twitch and prayed the other woman wouldn’t notice. “He went to fetch something before dinner. Not that it is any of your concern.”

  “Ensuring your safety—and your sanctity—is my concern, Your Majesty,” Sister Jorga replied matter-of-factly. “Perhaps you should visit the powder room again before presenting yourself. You appear to have…perspired.”

  “Perish the thought,” Delaryn grumbled. As tempting as it was to retreat to the privacy of her boudoir for a few minutes—which was what she had originally planned to do—she knew that Jorga was laying bait. The priestess would follow all the way upstairs and back down again, and she would ask prying questions the entire time.

  Drawing in a final deep breath, Delaryn pressed on down the corridor to the great hall. The royal guards bowed as they opened the massive oaken doors for her, and she floated inside with practiced feminine grace just like everyone expected. As long as she played her part tonight, no one would think twice about her private meeting with Rohen, even Sister Jorga.

  And they won’t suspect for an instant that I’m going to meet with him again tonight. Gods, please let him be there…

  Delaryn raised her chin as she entered, her gaze casually drifting across the half dozen tables arranged in a rough semicircle. As far as grand feasts went, this one was quite modest—there were only a few dozen nobles in attendance, mostly from families who were still hoping to claim lands in Torisval once the Chol horde was defeated. They were here to charm the king and his newly appointed duke into making concessions.

  Delaryn was here to give them all something to look at.

  “Ah, and there she is now,” King Thedric called out from the long master table. He beckoned her over, and she once again put on her warmest smile as she glided into her husband’s arms. The bards continued their previous tune, but no one was paying them much attention—all eyes were now fastened upon the king’s greatest prize. Delaryn could feel their contempt and their lust; it was the same in every duchy, every audience chamber, and every great hall. The men who ruled Darenthi wanted her strung up in the gallows almost as much as they wanted her naked and quivering in their beds.

  Thedric can feel it, too. He laughs at their hate and feeds upon their jealousy. He’ll be thinking about this exact moment when he thrusts his manhood inside me tonight.

  “General Galavir and I just finished discussing our final troop movements,” Thedric said, planting a kiss on her lips and helping her into her chair next to him at the head of the long table. “I know you were hoping to see the griffons, my dear, but he just took the last one. He wanted to get back to the front as soon as possible.”

  “Jarec already left?” the Lord Protector asked, glancing to the empty seat nearby.

  “Yes, he didn’t even stick around for the feast in his own castle,” Thedric muttered. “I fear his lack of decorum may become a real problem in the days ahead. Once the Chol are gone, the people of Torisval are going to need a proper duke, not a general.”

  “He’ll manage, I’m sure,” Kraythe said, his face twisting into a scowl for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and turned back to Delaryn. “In any event, with the horde on the loose, the beasts are a bit feistier than normal. I would rather keep them with the army and away from the villages here. The last thing the farmers need is for our griffons to start eating their livestock before they can be slaughtered for the winter.”

  Delaryn nodded. “I understand. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to see them after the war.”

  The Lord Protector smiled, and it seemed entirely genuine. Unlike the rest of the men here, she hadn’t caught him leering at her even once. He was a man of faith, obviously, but that usually only seemed to make more lecherous; the Tel Bator clerics and priests at the Triumvirate Temple flashed her the most lustful looks she had ever seen. Piety was kindling for depravity, it seemed.

  Perhaps the difference is that the Lord Protector has actually lived the life they only talk about. He has been out there on the front lines fighting demons and Chol and real threats to the realm.

  “I’m a little ashamed I didn’t think to get you one as a wedding present,” Lord Kraythe said. “But don’t worry—once the Chol are gone, I promise I’ll find you a beautiful golden cub of your own.”

  Delaryn looked up at him. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. I happen to have some pull with the leader of the Templar.”

  She giggled. “My lord, that would be—”

  “That’s a generous offer, old friend, but I couldn’t bear the thought of risking her in the sky,” Thedric said, placing his hand on her thigh. “Besides, she’ll have more than enough cubs of her own to take care of soon.”

  “Of course,” the Lord Protector said, and for a moment he almost looked upset on her behalf.

  Maybe he is. Maybe he’s the only one who can see the gilded cage.

  “There is something I wanted to give you tonight, Your Majesty,” Kraythe said, turning back to Thedric. “I had one of the artificers enchant it just before we left.”

  He gestured to one of the guards, and the man carried over a short but elaborately decorated sheath with a dagger inside. The Lord Protector pulled the handle and revealed an ornate silver weapon with faintly glowing runes inscribed upon the blade.

&
nbsp; “By the Guardian,” Thedric breathed. “Is that…”

  “Officially, only the Templar are allowed to wield wraithblades,” Kraythe said. “But I figured that if anyone was worthy of an exception, it’s you.”

  Thedric’s hand instantly left Delaryn’s thigh and shifted to the blade. “It’s magnificent…”

  “And exactly the kind of tool a king should have when he battles the Chol,” Kraythe said. “I still hope you never have an occasion to use it, but should you end up in the thick of things…this will serve you well.”

  The king whistled softly between his teeth. “You’ve outdone yourself again, old friend,” he said, wrapping his hand around the hilt and experimentally twisting the blade in midair. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  Kraythe smiled again, though his eyes were suddenly drawn to the door. “Well, it appears as though Sir Velis finally decided to join us again as well.”

  Delaryn turned just in time to see Rohen enter. Almost no one paid him any attention except for her, and when she caught herself staring at his tall, muscular frame, she promptly glanced away and silently scolded herself.

  “Did you get lost, son?” the Lord Protector asked, an amused smile on his lips.

  “Uh…only a little,” Rohen replied with an embarrassed grin. “Some of the guards wanted to see my sword.”

  “I can hardly blame them for that—wraithblades are truly priceless,” King Thedric said, smirking like a boy half his age when he slid his new toy back into its sheath. “Besides, most of these men have never even seen a Templar before. The Order was so devastated after the last Culling that they’ve almost passed into legend.”

  “With the horde on the loose, that will change soon enough,” Kraythe replied. His expression didn’t change, but Delaryn could hear the faintest touch of bitterness in his voice.

  Her husband didn’t seem to notice; he chuckled and looked at Rohen. “I hope you and Delaryn had time to catch up. I apologize for rushing you, but the servants seem to have done their job properly for once. If they manage to make this northern food palatable, I should have them locked up in the Galespire for sorcery.”

  Rohen and the Lord Protector chuckled softly as Thedric shifted the discussion as far away from the current crisis as possible. He was a skilled and charming conversationalist, much to the chagrin of his political enemies, and he had no compunction against using his wife as a prop whenever necessary.

  Delaryn smiled when the servants brought out the first course. She smiled again when they brought out the second and third, just like she smiled every time her husband made a joke or placed his hand upon her thigh or around her waist. She spent the entire evening smiling, in fact, even when he asked her to sing a ballad for the handful of tharns in attendance.

  None of the southerners cared for the actual tune, of course, including Thedric. She could tell from their faces that they found the folksy lyrics as foolish and simple as the rest of northern culture. In most of the other Darenthi duchies, the men and women of Torisval were considered little more than inbred, tundra-dwelling barbarians who would have moved to warmer climes if they had any sense. Never mind the fact that the people of Torisval had founded this kingdom, forged a tentative peace with the elves, and contained the Roskarim barbarians for over thirty generations.

  Still, Thedric was thoroughly entertained, which in the end was the whole point. His grin grew wider and wider every time a tharn’s eyes lingered on her flesh, and he stood beside her and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss once the ballad was over. She could feel his swollen manhood press against her thighs through his ceremonial armor, and she could tell that a part of him wanted to call off the rest of the feast and take her right there on the table.

  Not that he waited much longer. Shortly after dessert was served—and before any of the drunk tharns could beg him for more northern farmland—Thedric announced his intention to retire for the evening. He ordered the bards to keep playing for everyone else, however, and he briefly pulled the Lord Protector to the side.

  “I will see you off in the morning, old friend,” Thedric said, squeezing the shoulder of Kraythe’s good arm. “And thank you again for the blade.”

  The Lord Protector bowed his head. “You deserve nothing less, Your Majesty. The Templar greatly appreciate your hospitality.”

  “Such as it is in this backwater,” Thedric muttered. “There are times I think General Galavir honestly believes I’m punishing him by giving him these lands.”

  The two men shared a chuckle, and Delaryn used the distraction to look back at Rohen. His emerald eyes met hers as he stood in the shadow of the older men, and she offered him the faintest knowing smile. She could see the fear and the longing on his face, but mostly she could still sense his disgust at what she was being forced to endure.

  A lifetime ago, he had left behind his life and his friends to defend her family here in this very castle. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would make the same choice again, given the chance. How much had becoming a Templar changed him? Would it make him hate her when he learned what she truly was?

  Gods willing, I’ll find out tonight.

  After exchanging a few more parting words with Lord Kraythe, Thedric took Delaryn’s hand and led her out of the great hall toward the western wing of the keep. She noted the positions of the guards in the atrium cordoning off the family bedchambers, but it was surprisingly difficult to concentrate. Every time she came back here, she was overwhelmed with memories from her childhood. She could still hear her father discussing strategy in the halls while the servants put she and her brother Skaldir to bed. She had only been five years old when they had initially left Whitefeather Hold and moved to Silver Falls after her father had declared himself High King, and they had retreated back here once the war took a turn for the worse a decade later. She could still remember everything so vividly…

  Thedric was practically skipping in anticipation when he finally led her into the master bedchamber and closed the door behind them. Her father’s old room wasn’t nearly as large or ostentatious as the royal chamber in the palace in Silver Falls—nothing here was—but it was still quite spacious. The crimson sheets and golden curtains decorating the four-poster bed were truly fit for a duke of Darenthi, as was the rare elven furniture arrayed around the fireplace on the southern wall. Thanks to the ongoing renovations, the bookshelves had been refilled with historical literature celebrating the Ashellion’s rise to power centuries ago, and the weapon and armor racks on the opposite wall had been laden with ceremonial swords and cuirasses worn by the House of Galavir over the years.

  All traces of my family have been methodically erased. There isn’t a Whitefeather banner anywhere in the castle, nor a single book on my family’s history. A thousand years of rule all swept away as if they never happened.

  “What a day,” Thedric breathed as he gently placed his new dagger upon the armoire near the door. “The tharns are as cranky as ever. I would have thought that giving them more land would improve their mood. They’re far too worried about the Chol.”

  “It’s not just the Chol, my lord,” Delaryn said. “They do not approve of me.”

  Thedric chuckled. “You should take that as a compliment, dear. Their cronish wives are all back in the south, and none of the brothels here will reopen until we’ve dealt with the Chol and established a garrison. You can’t have whores without soldiers.”

  The king stepped back from the armoire and extended his arms in a silent invitation for her to help him. Stifling a sigh, Delaryn shuffled forward and began unfastening the straps of his ceremonial breastplate one by one.

  “They are not merely jealous, my lord,” she said. “They don’t trust me.”

  “Thankfully, they don’t need to trust you—they just need to trust me.” Thedric’s face soured when he turned to look at the wall-length mirror on the opposite side of the bedchamber. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe just how ungrateful some of these families are. Without me, Darenthi would st
ill be in shambles. They act like the civil war just magically ended without a fight.”

  “General Galavir knows the war never would have been won without you. So does the Lord Protector, I’m sure.”

  “Kraythe kept his Templar out of the fighting. Most of men at the table tonight still resent him for it.”

  “Do you?”

  “I used to,” Thedric admitted, shifting his gaze back to the dagger. “But I understand the game. The Tel Bator are supposed to be above politics, but they aren’t, of course. Kraythe is smart enough to know that, which is why he’s willing to try and curry my favor. The Lord Vigilant and the Lady Seeker are either too foolish or too proud to understand.”

  Delaryn frowned. “Is that why you haven’t asked the Templar for more men to battle the Chol?”

  “I will, in time,” Thedric said with a smile. “But the bedroom isn’t the place for politics, my love.”

  Delaryn forced a smile but continued working in silence. Once the last strap was unfastened, Thedric removed the breastplate and set it upon the armor rack next to the other gilded cuirasses.

  “At least I know that you will always be here waiting for me,” he said, smiling and cradling her cheek in his hand. “My loyal queen, so appreciative of everything I have done for her…”

  “You’re the one who saved me from my wretched father,” she said, the words burning in her throat. “I owe you everything, my lord.”

  “Yes, you do. Still, there are times when I still find it hard to believe the north produced such a rare, beautiful jewel.”

  “Perhaps the gods sculpted me just for you.”

  Thedric chuckled. “Perhaps so…”

  He leaned down to kiss her. His lips were as stiff as his tongue was clumsy, but Delaryn performed her wifely duties and allowed his hands to awkwardly explore her body wherever they saw fit. She lifted her cloak off her shoulders for him, and when she cast it aside, his fingers immediately unfastened the straps of her bodice. Once her top fell to the floor, he pulled away and smiled hungrily at his prize.