Allegiance (5 page)

 

Hours passed without Steldor coming to our rooms. I tried to fill the time by reading in the parlor but eventually
moved into my bedroom to lie down, for the tension had given me a dull headache.

I now occupied the room that had been my mother's, but I had taken the feather pillows and cream-colored spread from my childhood bedroom with me. The feel and familiarity of these items brought me some measure of comfort, even though everything else in my former quarters, other than my clothing, had been left behind. I wished I could have as easily left behind my memories of Narian. While I no longer had the balcony off my other bedroom as a daily reminder of the nights he had surreptitiously visited me, images of him continued to plague me, unbidden and cruelly tantalizing: the mesmerizing blue eyes that compelled me to share with him my most private fears; the feel of his thick, untidy hair as the sunlight split it into myriad shades of gold; the soft laugh that touched my soul; his aloof but unpretentious manner; his confident assurance that I could make my own choices. I shuddered at the thought of Steldor's attitude toward me, for he saw me as only a woman, relegated to supervising the household, planning and executing the social events and raising the children. All he really wanted was my presence in his bed, which made me all the more unwilling to comply. Steldor's glance made me uncomfortable, his patronizing laugh made me cringe, his condescension frequently led to my humiliation. In Narian's arms, I had felt extraordinary happiness; in Steldor's, I felt trapped.

Gripped by restlessness, I returned to the parlor and walked aimlessly through it, stopping at the closed door to Steldor's bedroom. I had not yet visited his private domain—primarily because I had so far resisted his attempts to entice me into it. I put a hand to the door, curiosity urging me forward, but the wild thudding of my heart caused me to pause. I did not know what would happen if Steldor re
turned while I was within the very room into which he endeavored to lure me.

I crossed the parlor once more and slowly sat down on the sofa, the reality of my life falling like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. Of the rooms Steldor and I occupied, I was afraid to enter his bedroom and was always jittery when he and I found ourselves together in the parlor. The only room in which I felt safe was my bedroom, and even there I fretted that Steldor would pursue me.

As the afternoon waned, hunger got the best of me, and I left to join my family for the evening meal in our private dining room. My father was there, although in a much less jovial frame of mind than usual. Throughout the stilted dinner conversation, he barely made eye contact with me, and I felt awash in shame. Just when we were concluding the meal, Steldor appeared in the doorway, his stony gaze immediately finding me.

“Join us,” my mother said with a hesitant smile. “I will have the servants refill the platters.”

“No, thank you,” Steldor responded without taking his eyes off me. “I have just come for Alera.”

“Of course,” my mother said lightly, although I knew from her expression that she could feel the enmity radiating from the King.

I stood, then walked past my husband into the corridor, my stomach churning. Steldor walked behind me, not speaking, as we proceeded to our quarters. I entered the parlor first but was barely over the threshold when he caught my arm, spinning me around to face him and slamming the door behind us.

“I think I have a right to know how far your relationship with Narian went,” he said to me, his voice calm despite the crazed glint in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” I cautiously asked, even though I understood what he wanted to know.

“I mean,” he snarled, “did I marry a whore?”

I stared at him, mortified, then without thought slapped him hard across the face. My hand stung from the force of my blow, and I stumbled back from him, my body suddenly cold as fear of how he might respond settled over me like a pall.

He rubbed his cheek, astonishment playing upon his features, then he grabbed my arm above the elbow.

“You didn't answer my question,” he said.

With no escape, and knowing that continued effort on my part to evade him would only anger him further, I gave as vague an answer as I dared.

“We…kissed. That was all.”

“You kissed?” He placed one hand upon my back, pulling me against him, then ran his other hand roughly up and down my body. “Or did you caress?”

“Unlike some, Narian was always a perfect gentleman,” I said caustically, pushing hard against his muscular chest. “Now let me go!”

Still he held me in place, and I knew how futile my attempts to thwart him would be if he ignored my plea. Emboldened by the peril of my position, I tried once more to shame him into releasing me.

“Narian did not press me for anything I was not willing to give!”

“Then the question becomes, what were you willing to give?”

Once again, shock reverberated through me at his insinuation. Just as I felt certain that he would harm me, no longer caring whether I came willingly to his bed, he thrust me
from him. As fear left me, indignation swelled, and words burst from my mouth.

“You have certainly kissed women other than me.”

“Of course I have,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “But I did not pursue any of them after
we
began courting.”

His glower returned, and he again advanced on me, and I realized how foolish I had been to engage him further. I backed away until I collided with the wall.

“The problem with you, Alera,” he said, leaning toward me, one hand against the wall on each side of me, “is that you have been keeping the wrong man at bay.”

Unable to bear his accusatory eyes, I turned my head away. After a moment that felt like a lifetime, he pushed himself upright, then stalked to the parlor door, where he turned to me one last time.

“You will never be with Narian. You are, and always will be, mine.”

He disappeared into the corridor, leaving me trembling and so weak that I felt I would faint. I stumbled to the sofa and sank upon it, sobbing. I thought of how Narian had once defended me from Steldor's ungentlemanly conduct; he would never have stood by while Steldor treated me in such a manner. It was painful to think of Narian under any circumstances but doubly so in light of my husband's behavior.

I rose to my feet, not wanting to remain in this room alone. I left my quarters and stumbled down the length of the corridor, bowing my head to hide my swollen eyes from the guards and servants I met. I stopped outside my sister's door and knocked, trying not to look at her bodyguard, Halias, and barely able to keep my tears in check.

Miranna appeared in the doorway and, at sight of me, drew me in and closed the door behind me, then wrapped
me in her comforting embrace. With an arm around my shoulders, she guided me to the sofa, and we huddled together as my eyes overflowed.

“What happened?” she asked gently.

“He was so angry, Mira,” I choked, and I began to tremble.

“Steldor?”

I nodded, sitting upright. “He called me a…a whore.”

I struggled to say the word, not understanding how he could have used it, yet knowing that my confessions in Cannan's office must have led him to this belief.

“What?” breathed Miranna, her eyes large and round.

At the thought that everyone else at the meeting might have reached the same conclusion, I hurried to tell Miranna the entire story, beginning with the interrogation I had undergone in the captain's office.

“Miranna, what must everyone think of me? Cannan, Galen, Destari? And Father, he hardly acknowledged me during dinner. Perhaps they, too, think I'm a…” I broke off and buried my face in my hands. “I am so ashamed.”

“But Steldor didn't mean it, Alera. He couldn't really think that. It's just—well, we know he has a temper. He'll calm down, and then everything will be all right.” Her tone was soothing, and she brushed my hair over my shoulders. “And don't worry about everyone else—not one among them would think that way, I know it.”

“But I deceived him. He didn't know until now that I had a relationship with Narian. I don't think he'll ever forgive me.” I met her earnest blue eyes, knowing she would not grasp the full meaning of my words. She did not know that I was refusing to let Steldor bed me, that I had led him to believe I was not yet ready to have a physical relationship, when the true reason for my reluctance was that my heart
belonged to someone else. I doubted that Steldor would ever get past my betrayal.

“I suppose you did, and Narian's been a sore subject ever since he got the better of Steldor at the tournament last year.” Distractedly twirling a strand of strawberry blond hair around the fingers of her left hand, she added, “But I'm sure if you apologize, he will come around. After all, Narian is gone. Steldor can't feel threatened by him anymore.”

“He frightens me,” I admitted, and she again put her arms around me.

“But he didn't strike you, Alera—even though he was furious, he didn't hit you. I don't think you need to be afraid of him—you saw him at his worst and he didn't lay a hand on you.”

I found some solace in her words, for Miranna was right. He had not struck me, although most men probably would have, especially considering that
I
had struck
him.

I stayed with her for as long as I dared, not wanting to return to my quarters but knowing that I must. When fatigue threatened to immobilize me, I made my way to my rooms, praying I would not encounter Steldor. I didn't think I could withstand another assault, whether verbal or physical. I was relieved to see that his weapons were not hanging on the pegs in the wall next to the fireplace. Though I wondered where he was and when he would be back, in the end all I wanted was to cherish whatever time I had alone.

I AWOKE THE NEXT DAY FEELING ANXIOUS AND restless, with a strong desire to escape the confines of the palace and the city. The activities of my morning, which consisted of a series of mundane meetings with my household staff, did not improve my mood. The afternoon was even less promising, and I was considering whether I should cancel the remainder of my appointments when my thoughts were interrupted by a knock on my drawing room door. I frowned, certain I had no other business until after lunch. Nonetheless, I bade my visitor enter. To my surprise, Cannan opened the door and came to stand before my desk. I sprang to my feet, and he inclined his head in a respectful yet understated greeting. Unable to meet his gaze, I began to fuss with the papers that were strewn on the wood before me, the disgrace of the previous day haunting me.

“Are you all right, Alera?” Cannan inquired, frank as ever, his dark eyes never leaving my reddening face.

I nodded, struggling to compose myself.

“We should sit,” he said, motioning toward the stately, yet decidedly feminine furniture that sat bathed in sunlight
on the far side of the room. Cannan stepped aside to permit me around my desk, and I glanced out the bay window into the East Courtyard, certain that the flowers and trees were urging me to escape. As that was not an option, I perched on a rose velvet armchair, dreading whatever the captain had come to say.

He sat on a cream brocade sofa, his dark features and serious demeanor causing me to wonder if I would once again be under interrogation. That thought was quickly followed by the slightly hopeful one that if he had wanted to rebuke me, he would have summoned me to
his
office, rather than coming to mine.

As the seconds passed, I searched for something appropriate to say. Did he want me to express remorse for my crimes? Did he expect me to defend myself? Was he here on my father's behalf? Try as I might, I could think of no reason other than the disastrous meeting that would explain his presence in my drawing room.

It was Cannan who finally opened the conversation.

“I know yesterday was a trying day for you,” he said, and I thought I detected a note of sympathy behind his words. Despite this, I fidgeted with the folds of my gown.

“You are no doubt concerned about the reactions of those who attended the meeting. You need not be.”

I was dumbfounded by this assertion, for though he had not yet expressed disapproval or accusation, I had been expecting criticism of some sort.

“I don't understand,” I managed, certain my ears had tricked me.

“You are the Queen, Alera. The only person to whom you answer is the King.”

Still unable to discern his meaning, my thoughts flew unbidden to my father, who had not spoken to me since
the meeting. Regret rose as I recalled the disappointment in his eyes.

“But my father…” I ventured, unable to exorcise that last, wretched thought.

“Listen to me,” Cannan more firmly stated. “You no longer answer to your father. You are the
Queen,
and that puts you beyond reproach from anyone other than Steldor. Your father is now one of your subjects, and he owes you the same respect as do all Hytanican citizens.” He waited for his words to penetrate my brain before continuing. “Everyone has regrets, from peasants to nobility to military officers to kings. You are not exempt simply by virtue of birthright. Hold your head high—there is no need for shame.”

Time elapsed in silence. Cannan's advice made sense—however strange it was to think that my status was above my father's—and yet I remained troubled. I had confessed some of my worries to Miranna, but she was not well equipped to advise me, for she did not know Steldor well. Cannan, on the other hand, would be able to offer insight into his son's disposition. The captain watched me patiently, as if knowing there was something else I wished to discuss, and I decided to risk his displeasure by raising the subject.

“Last night, Steldor was so livid that I don't even know how to describe it,” I put forth, not wanting to divulge the specifics of my clash with his son. “It felt like…hatred. The intensity of it was frightening.”

Cannan nodded, showing no curiosity about what had transpired, providing yet another reason for me to feel beholden to him.

“Steldor is, unfortunately, well-known for his temper. Galen and I expended considerable effort settling him down before he sought you out.”

I considered his words, twining my hands together. Was
he really implying that the rant I had endured was a mild version of what it could have been?

“Steldor doesn't hate you, Alera,” he said, trying again, now gazing through the window, his manner suggesting that his next words would be more insightful. “My son is a very passionate person, about many things, and when a passionate person is hurt, love can express itself as anger.”

Something in the captain's phrasing caught my attention, and it occurred to me that he might be speaking not only of Steldor, but of himself. He had once told me that in his youth, he had been much like his son. I tried to imagine Cannan with the temper, willfulness and ego of my husband, but found it to be as difficult as picturing Steldor with his father's qualities.

“I tell you this so you can better understand him, not in an attempt to excuse any particular conduct. Although to the extent he hurt you, I am confident it was through his words and not by his hand.”

I nodded, marveling at how well Cannan knew his son. Relief flowed through me, but there was one last question that I was certain the captain would be able to address, for he had served as a father to Galen in addition to Steldor. Knowing how close the two young men were, I feared that the burgeoning relationship between Galen and I had been irrevocably damaged.

“And what of Galen? Steldor said some things to me that I hope he didn't mean. I can't help but think they are in Galen's mind, as well.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Galen and Steldor are not the same person,” Cannan said, raising one eyebrow. “When Steldor is angry, he has a tendency to draw the worst conclusions. Galen does not have the same temperament and usually assumes the best of people.”

At last I graced my father-in-law with a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” I said, more grateful than I could express that he had come to see me.

He rose from his seat and nodded.

“I will let you continue with your day.” After taking a few steps toward the door, he turned to offer one last encouraging thought. “I have confidence in you, Alera. You will be good for my son. If you refuse, as you have been, to let him have everything his way, he may even learn a little humility.”

Before I could respond, Cannan disappeared into the corridor, leaving me utterly bemused.

I ate a lunch of vegetable soup and bread in my quarters, having declined to join my family in our dining room on the second floor. Although my spirits had improved following my discussion with the captain, I still did not feel ready to face my father, Steldor or Galen. I also thought my parlor would provide a welcome break from prying eyes, as there was a definite buzz about the palace that the King and Queen were not on speaking terms.

After I had finished eating, I left my quarters and returned to my drawing room to slog through the afternoon. I moved quietly down the corridor toward the spiral staircase, not wanting to attract the notice of anyone tarrying at lunch, only to be intercepted by a Palace Guard.

“Your Highness, King Adrik wishes to speak with you. He has asked that you meet him in his parlor on the third floor.”

My confidence level, which had been bolstered by Cannan, plummeted along with my stomach. I had anticipated that my father would desire a word or two with me, but could not envision exactly what I might encounter. I needed
additional time to collect my thoughts; I needed a chance to dredge up some kind of explanation.

“Kindly inform my father that for the remainder of the day, I shall be occupied with other activities. Tell him I will see him in the morning.”

The guard nodded and left to deliver my message. Knowing that my father would be displeased with my response and might decide to seek me out regardless, I hurried back toward my rooms, an escape plan forming in my mind. I addressed the first Palace Guard I met, instructing him to send word to Lanek, Steldor's personal secretary, that I was afflicted with a headache and needed my afternoon schedule cleared. I knew Lanek would also inform Steldor of my condition, which would ensure that he would not try to see me, although I doubted this measure was necessary given his current state of mind. Having freed my day, I sent another servant to the Royal Stables to have my father's favorite mount, a steady and well-trained former cavalry horse, brought to the courtyard gates, readied for riding. While the request to the stable was coming from me, it would not occur to anyone that my father would not be the rider, and I hoped to be well away from the city before anyone could report the unorthodox nature of my activities.

I prepared for my excursion, donning a skirt and a white blouse, and tying my hair at the base of my neck in the style Halias, Miranna's easygoing bodyguard, wore his. It was my intention to imitate a man as well as I could in order to be less conspicuous while out and about mounted on a horse. But now I had a challenge, for no man wore a skirt, and I therefore needed a pair of breeches. Unfortunately, I no longer had the pair I had used when Narian secretly taught me to ride, an activity that was totally inappropriate for a Hytanican woman. I had thrown them in with the
servant's laundry to prevent them from being found when my belongings had been transferred to my new quarters, for their discovery would have raised questions and fed palace gossip. I furrowed my brow as I confronted this problem, for I had little time in which to come up with a pair. Believing that Steldor could not possibly become more upset with me, I decided his trousers could meet my needs. With a great breath, I strode to his bedroom door and pushed it open, glimpsing for the first time his inner domain.

I don't know what I expected to find, but what I did see was a fascinating conglomeration, some of the items in keeping with the Steldor I knew and some out of character. The room contained the usual furnishings, albeit masculine in design: an ample four-poster bed; heavy, leather-padded armchairs near the hearth; a sturdy trunk and wardrobe; two large bookcases; and a sidebar topped with goblets and mugs that were often accompanied, I presumed, by flasks of wine and ale. My husband's familiar scent also hung in the air, heavier than it should have been considering he had been gone this day. I glanced around and noticed a bowl on the mantel of the fireplace, from which the fragrance seemed to emanate, and realized that the wolf's head talisman he always wore contained the same mixture.

It was the personal aspects of the room that I found intriguing. Contrary to what I knew of his disposition, the style of the furniture was simple, containing none of the usual carvings, and the color that dominated the room was a deep wine—not quite burgundy, not quite red, but somehow subtly warmer and more inviting than those stronger hues. Thick tapestries covered the floor and hung on the walls. Numerous weapons of various types and sizes were mounted above the fireplace, including a collection of daggers. The neatly shelved books were of the expected variety:
weaponry, falconry, military history and military strategy. There was not an item out of order, and yet the room felt relaxed and comfortable.

As I glanced around, I tried to reconcile what I was seeing with the military man I knew Steldor to be and was suddenly struck by the answer. The room, of course, was befitting a man, but also sensuous and elegant, perfectly suited for coaxing a woman into his arms.

I crossed to the wardrobe, rifling through it until I found my husband's breeches. I pulled out a pair and put them on under my skirt, adding one of his belts in the hope of keeping the trousers from falling to my ankles. Scanning his tidy room one last time, I snatched an empty flask, filling it with water from the pitcher that stood on the bedside table and attaching it to my borrowed belt. I left his bedroom, bending my left arm over my abdomen to hide my strange bump. Thus equipped, I summoned my mettle and walked through the corridors to flee the palace, my father and my humiliation.

It wasn't until I reached the courtyard gates that my behavior began to raise eyebrows. The groom holding my father's chestnut gelding was just short of shocked when I took the reins from his hands to lead the animal down the cobblestone thoroughfare that cut through the center of the city. He did not, of course, dare question me, nor did the equally confused Palace Guards who were standing sentry, but I suspected that my behavior would at some point reach the ears of my father, Cannan, Steldor or Galen. Pulling the horse onto a side street in the Market District, I hastily removed my skirt and abandoned it between two shops.

I mounted the large but sedate animal and guided him onto the busy thoroughfare. Although it had been over three months since I had last ridden, it did not take me long to feel
at home in the saddle. Without a backward glance, I urged the horse into an easy trot, wanting to put distance between myself and the palace, afraid of pursuit.

The city thrummed with activity as I trotted onward, and I began to enjoy the freedom I had stolen, praying that it would not be short-lived. The May sun made the afternoon pleasantly warm, although I knew it would cool come evening and that I would need to be home before the day was out.

My meager disguise was less than convincing, for I was drawing incredulous stares and a few double takes from passersby, some of whom gave an astonished bow or curtsey to their Queen. As I approached the point of entry into the walled city, I could feel the watchful eyes of the sentries upon me, but again no one dared question me, and I passed unhindered beneath the raised iron gate. I cared not about the reactions of the guards, only about the possibility that they would inform the King, and urged my mount into a canter, a gait I was certain it had not been asked to employ in years.