| |
|
Alorha brightened immediately at his suggestion, the shift in her expression unguarded and sincere, as though he had handed her something unexpectedly delightful rather than merely commented on fabric. “Midtoned green,” she repeated, turning back toward the windows with renewed consideration. She studied the light again, this time imagining it softened by something gentler, something alive rather than theatrical. “Yes… not too dark. Not too bright either. Something like the gardens just after rain.” She glanced at him, curiosity warming her features. Trivial conversation. That's what she wanted right now. Lets talk of curtains forever, if it makes tomorrow come slower. There was no mockery in her tone, no indulgent surprise — only genuine interest. The fact that he had spoken at all, volunteered an opinion, seemed to please her more than the opinion itself. When he mentioned the meeting at ten and bringing breakfast beforehand, she blinked, faintly startled by how quickly her life had apparently acquired a timetable. “Ten,” she murmured. “That feels alarmingly soon.” A soft breath escaped her that might have been a laugh if it weren’t edged with nerves. “I appreciate the warning. And the breakfast.” She hesitated, then added with mild confusion, “Is it customary for consorts to manage morning meals? Or are you simply being kind?” The question was innocent rather than pointed. It was becoming increasingly clear she did not fully understand where his duties began and ended — and that unsettled her more than it embarrassed her. But it was his answer about the former queen that shifted something in her entirely. Only physically. The words did not shock her — not truly — but they did make her stomach turn in a quiet, involuntary way. She didn't recoil from him. She didn't look at him differently. Instead, her expression softened with something closer to dismay at the structure itself. Game pieces. The phrase lingered unpleasantly. “That sounds very lonely,” she said before she could stop herself. It wasn't an insult toward the former queen. It was simply an observation about the kind of world where people were reduced to use. She had noticed the servants’ reactions earlier — the way their surprise had flickered into something warmer. She had assumed it was nerves. Now she suspected it had been something else. “I don’t want to be feared,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “Respected, yes. But not feared.” Her brow furrowed faintly. “It seems terribly inefficient to govern people who are always bracing for anger.” Then he mentioned the council deciding what to do with him. The phrasing struck her sharply. “What to do with you,” she repeated, not angrily, but with unmistakable distaste — not toward him, but toward the idea. “You speak as though you’re a chair they might move to another room.” She shook her head slightly, confusion and mild revulsion threading together. “I don’t like that.” When he brought up an heir, however, she went very still. There it was again. The inevitability. She did not blush. She did not react with flustered embarrassment. Instead, she looked genuinely perplexed. She didn't know who was surposed to tell her about - well anything. No one had told her anything other how to act in court, but they'd done a god awful job of it. “I understand how lineage works,” she said slowly, carefully. “I wasn't raised entirely among flowers.” A faint hint of dry humor touched her voice, though it faded quickly. “But it feels remarkably abrupt to discuss heirs before I have even learned which ministers are trustworthy.” She paced a few steps, thinking aloud in the open, unpolished way that seemed natural to her. “I have not ruled a single day. I haven't attended a single council session. And yet there is already an expectation that I should secure the next generation.” She paused, looking at him again with open bewilderment. “Is that truly the order of priorities here?” There was no disdain for him in the question — only honest confusion about the machinery of power. “And if I decide I would prefer time?” she continued. “Time to understand this kingdom before binding it further. Time to decide whether I am even suited to shaping a future for it.” Her expression softened slightly. “Does the council allow for that? Or is patience considered weakness?” She studied him thoughtfully, noting the tension that had returned to his posture at the mention of not wanting him. “You think if I say I have little interest in a consort right now, they will remove you,” she said quietly. It was not a question. It was realization. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, displeasure flickering across her features — not at him, but at the system that made his security dependent on her compliance. “That is… unpleasant,” she said finally, the word understated but firm. “I don’t care for arrangements that hinge someone’s safety on whether I am prepared to produce an heir.” She folded her arms loosely, not defensively but thoughtfully. “I may not want a consort,” she admitted plainly. “Not now. Possibly not in the way they expect.” Her nose wrinkled faintly, almost childishly, at the implication. “But I have no desire to see you punished or displaced because of that.” The way she saw it, it wasn't a priority at all. She shook her head, her nose wrinkling. She didn't like this one bit. She just moved to her bags, picking a few bits and bobs up, attempting to take her mind else where. It wasn't fair she'd had this title thrust on her. She wanted nothing to do with it. Hell, she was the sort of girl who still had to sleep with a rag she'd had as a child. She pulled some clothes out, deciding she was, in fact, in no mood to panic about the next day. She'd learn, she was sure. Her head turned to him, just a little. "Where do you stay? Normally?" She asked with a cocked head. "You can go there for now," she offered with a small smile. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage had nodded once in agreement when she seemed excited about the curtains, glad to have found that one common point with her at least. It wasn't much, really, but knowing that she wasn't going to punish him for speaking freely now and again was nice. He had no intention of ever doing so when they were out of the room, but having a space that was more safe than the halls did ease some of his nerves. He shrugged slightly at her question about what was normal, the chains glinting in the sunlight coming from the window as he moved. "Legally, I have no idea," he admitted. "But I always did with your predecessor. She had a nasty habit of being crabby before she ate, and I never slept much," he explained. It was hard to get a good night's sleep when you were expected to be awake and serving her the moment she opened her eyes, especially when she was in a bad mood. "I'm still a servant....I do whatever you want me to," he pointed out. "There's just...other things added on." As she kept talking, though, he found himself agreeing with her. Discussing an heir would likely be a topic of concern, though the council would likely want to make sure she knew what her kingdom looked like first. The war was on the front of everyone's mind ...as it probably should be. "Sometimes," he admitted. "Though tomorrow should be more about getting you familiar with laws and customs and the war efforts." Though as she mentioned what the council would see as a weakness, he let out a faint huff of breath, almost in amusement. "You're in charge of them," he pointed out. "Their job is to aide you. If they fail to do so, that is their own undoing," he added. She may need to punish some here or there, or to take order of the council room at time to gain their respect, but focusing on safety over an heir shouldn't be a huge problem. When she mentioned the idea of him being removed though, he frowned slightly, body growing still again. "I know palace secrets. They can't just...let me go," he noted softly. He didn't have the heart to tell her the last consort had been beheaded when he'd failed to please the queen. He'd done no wrong, he'd simply grown older than what she wanted. So she'd waved her hand, he'd been killed, and sage had been brought to her feet. He watched her move to unpack, clearly focusing her mind on something other than the tasks ahead of her. He understood what she was feeling - being torn from her home, forced into the palace, and even needing to produce an heir....those were all things he had struggled with too. Things he still struggled with. His mind had wandered, so when she spoke up again, he half jumped. Though, he sort of glanced around the room, not sure how to respond to that. "Uh...here," he noted somewhat awkwardly. "She usually kept me perched on the bed if I wasn't busy doing something for her," he added, a faint flush of embarrassment forming on his cheeks as he dropped his gaze again. "I can...set up a space in the corner for tonight, if you'd prefer that," he offered. |
|  |
|
| |
|
Alorha noticed the way he half-jumped when she spoke again, and the realization settled quietly into her chest rather than striking sharply — this was what living here had done to him. A constant state of readiness. A life measured in someone else’s moods and movements. She hadn't grown up in fear. Her childhood home had been grand — sweeping staircases, tall arched windows, long corridors lined with oil portraits of ancestors who all looked mildly disappointed in one way or another — but it hadn't been cruel. There had been structure, certainly. Expectations. Tutors who corrected her posture with a tap of a stick against her shoulder blade and governesses who insisted on perfect diction. But no one had flinched when she entered a room. No one had watched her face to determine whether they would eat that day. She crossed slowly toward the dressing table, setting her gloves down with deliberate care, fingers brushing over polished wood that reflected candlelight in warm ripples. The room was enormous — unnecessarily so — the bed dominating the center like a stage, the windows draped in heavy fabric that swallowed the last of the evening light. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a statement. A declaration of power. She wondered if she was meant to feel larger inside it. She didn't. When he explained that he always rose before the former queen and rarely slept properly, she paused in the act of unpinning a small jeweled clasp from her sleeve. “That sounds exhausting,” she said plainly, glancing at him through the mirror. Not pitying. Just honest. “I don't wake angry when I'm hungry. At least, I don't think I do.” A faint crease touched her brow as if genuinely considering it. “If I ever do, you have my permission to hand me bread and tell me I'm being unreasonable.” It wasn't a joke meant to mock him. It was an offering — awkward, perhaps, but real. She slipped the final pin from her hair, and the careful arrangement loosened, dark strands falling over her shoulders in a softer frame. The change felt symbolic in a way she hadn't expected. Queen or not, she was tired. The day had been long, heavy with ceremony and silent assessment. She reached for the brush resting on the table and began drawing it slowly through her hair, steady strokes that gave her something simple and grounding to focus on. When she asked whether he would attend the meetings, she didn't try to disguise the underlying reason. “I'd rather you were there,” she admitted, meeting his gaze again in the mirror. “Even if you stand by the wall and say nothing. I would prefer not to sit at a table full of people who have known each other for decades without a single familiar face.” Her voice remained composed, but there was no false bravado in it. She had been educated thoroughly — diplomacy, trade, history, rhetoric — but theory wasn't the same as command. She could debate tax reform over tea. She had never directed wartime strategy. She set the brush aside and stood, moving toward one of the trunks at the foot of the bed. The lid opened with a soft creak, revealing neatly folded nightclothes layered in pale silk. Her life before this hadn't been small or simple. It had been refined. Structured. She had attended formal dinners beneath chandeliers and learned three languages before her eighteenth year. But no tutor had ever handed her a war report and asked her to decide where soldiers would be sent. “I don't know everything,” she said quietly as she lifted a folded nightgown from the trunk. “And I won't pretend that I do. If I ask questions tomorrow that seem obvious, it's because I want clarity, not because I'm incapable.” She glanced toward him again, steady and unembarrassed. “I'd rather be informed than impressive.” When he mentioned being kept perched on the bed, something in her expression shifted — not scandalized, not flustered, simply disapproving in a quiet, contained way. She stepped around the bed, setting the nightclothes neatly at its edge before turning back toward him. “You don't have to perch anywhere,” she said gently. “This room is far too large to reduce you to a decorative position.” She gestured lightly toward the hearth chairs, then toward the window alcove where moonlight now traced pale lines across the floor. “Stay wherever you're most comfortable. The chair, the window, the bed if that's what you're used to. I don't intend to arrange you.” She began unfastening the buttons at the back of her gown with careful fingers, her tone remaining conversational rather than self-conscious. “If you prefer to set up something in the corner for tonight, you can. But only if that's what you prefer. Not because you think you should.” The gown loosened, and she slipped out of it with efficient modesty, stepping behind a folding screen near the dressing area to change into the pale silk nightgown. The fabric whispered softly as it settled against her skin. When she stepped back out, her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked younger somehow. Less ceremonial. More herself. She moved to extinguish several of the lamps, leaving only a few lit so the room glowed rather than blazed. “Tomorrow will be long,” she said, drawing back the covers of the bed but not yet climbing in. “There will be laws, customs, discussions about the war. Likely debates about things I haven't even considered yet.” A faint exhale left her, not quite a sigh. “And apparently discussions about heirs.” She sat on the edge of the bed then, smoothing the fabric absently. “For tonight, I suggest sleep. Actual sleep. If you're going to be expected in council chambers and corridors and wherever else they decide to display us, you shouldn't be half-conscious.” There was a pause before she added, softer but certain, “You're safe in here. I won't punish you for speaking. And I won't wake you simply because I can.” The candles flickered gently in the quiet that followed, the vast room feeling a fraction less imposing than it had an hour ago. "Do what pleases you for now," she hummed, leaning over to grab one of the many books she'd set out on a side table. She'd fall asleep eventually... it was still early in the evening, and she desparetly just wanted to calm her nerves. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage listened as the young woman spoke, her joke causing a small smile to form on his face. It surprised him, a little....he couldn't remember the last time that had happened. Even when the nobles were joking around, it usually wasn't anything he found amusing. But the idea of telling his master she was being unreasonable was so rediculous it was funny. But, it did remind him that she didn't mind what he said or did, as long as it was within reason. "Noted," he responded with a sort of amusement in his own voice. He would probably never say it, but at least it meant that of she was cranky she wouldn't punish him for it. He did cock his head as she mentioned wanting him at the meetings, a little curious as to why. As she spoke, he couldn't help but be a little surprised. She spoke as though she already trusted him. Like they were already friends. He supposed they did understand each other to a certain degree, and neither of them had been mean or rude to the other. But friends? That wasn't quite something he was sure what to do with. So, he just chalked it up to having a friendly face there. "I'll be standing by your side the whole time," he noted with a small inclination of his head. It was meant to be reassuring, though he wasn't actually too sure how well that came across. He felt his shoulders relax again when she didn't push for more information, but simply gave him the option. What would be most comfortable for him? In all honesty, he wasn't sure. He looked around the room as she moved to slip into more comfortable clothes, trying to decide what he wanted. Finally, he just decided to take one side of the bed. It would be easier to tell if she was awake that way, and he honestly wasn't sure what other blankets there were for him to set up in the corner. Besides, he was comfortable enough around her at this point. And she didn't want to sleep with him, so he wasn't too worried in that regard. At her mention of sleep though, he let out a soft breath and nodding. It would be a good idea to settle down. The emotions of the day had been a lot, to say the least. He was exhausted. He hid it well, and the makeup helped but....he had to admit the idea of a good night's sleep was very tempting. He moved to one of the dressers at the side of the room, working at unclasping chains and jewelry and setting them in their respective places. It wasnt technically his, but the queen wanted him to look pretty, so she made sure he had space for the decorations on his body, and an area where outfits would be kept clean and neat. It took him a while to get all of those off, heasitating slightly before removing the veil from his face and then slipping into the bathroom to change into a much less fancy outfit. It still wasn't much modesty wise, but it was better than before. He washed the makeup off too, not wanting to keep it on if he didn't have too, and she didn't seem like she'd care. He let out a soft breath then, just watching himself in the mirror, wondering how this was all going to play out. He was too tired to care much by then, since the whole process of getting ready for bed had taken close to an hour. He slipped out of the bathroom then, pulling his hair back into a simple braid so it wouldnt be too messy the next morning, and slipped onto the side of the bed Alorha had left for him. He settled down quickly, and while he normally wouldn't have allowed himself to fall asleep before the queen, this one seemed like she wouldnt care. So, he let himself drift off, and was admittedly out like a light once he'd relaxed under the blankets. |
| |
|
| |
|
Alorha noticed the small smile when it appeared, and it pleased her more than she expected it to. It wasn’t a large expression, barely more than a quiet curve of amusement, but something about it felt like a tiny victory — not over him, but over the atmosphere the room must have held for a very long time. The idea of anyone being punished for something as simple as hunger or irritation still felt absurd to her. She had grown up surrounded by rules and formality, certainly, but not cruelty masquerading as authority. If someone in her father’s house had snapped at breakfast, the worst consequence had usually been a raised eyebrow from her governess and a reminder that patience was a virtue. Not chains. Not fear. His answer about the meetings eased something small in her chest. She hadn’t been entirely sure how the arrangement worked, and there was still so much about the palace she didn’t understand yet. Customs layered upon customs, expectations that everyone else seemed to know instinctively. “Good,” she said softly, and she meant it. The thought of entering that council chamber tomorrow with at least one familiar presence nearby steadied her more than she would have expected. It wasn’t that she doubted her education — she had spent years being prepared for courtly life — but education and reality rarely matched perfectly. Tomorrow would be the first time she sat at the head of a table meant for rulers, and she suspected every pair of eyes in the room would be measuring her in quiet ways. While he moved about the room, removing the various pieces of jewelry and chains, she continued with her own quiet routine. She read slowly, the steady rhythm calming her mind in a way little else could. The soft sound of pages turning reminded her unexpectedly of evenings at home, sitting before the tall mirrors in her old chambers while her maid chattered about village gossip she pretended not to know. The estate had always felt warm at night — lamplight reflecting off polished floors, music drifting faintly from another wing, the distant murmur of conversation after dinners that stretched long into the evening. She would miss that. Not the luxury, necessarily. She had that here in abundance. But the familiarity. The way the corridors had turned without surprise, the way every servant knew her by name rather than title. The gardens especially — she thought of them suddenly, vividly — long gravel paths lined with trimmed hedges and pale roses that bloomed all summer. There had been a fountain at the center where she often sat with a book, the water soft enough that it barely interrupted the quiet. She wondered who was walking those paths tonight. If the roses had begun opening yet. The thought left a soft ache behind it. She set the book down eventually and began dimming the lamps around the room, leaving only a few flickering candles to soften the shadows. The enormous chamber felt different in gentler light, less imposing, more like a place meant for rest rather than ceremony. When she turned back toward the bed, she noticed he had chosen one side of it without hesitation. The decision seemed practical rather than presumptuous, and she found she appreciated that. It meant he understood her well enough already to know she wouldn’t take offense. By the time he disappeared into the bathing room, she had already slipped beneath the blankets, pulling them up around herself with a quiet sigh. The mattress was far softer than the one she’d slept on at home — almost too soft, sinking in a way that made it difficult to settle properly. She lay back against the pillows anyway, staring up at the faint patterns in the ceiling molding while the sounds of water and quiet movement filtered from the other room. Time stretched longer than she expected. She must have been more tired than she realized, because she nearly drifted off while waiting, her thoughts blurring into half-formed dreams of marble halls and unfamiliar faces. The soft sound of the door opening pulled her back to full awareness. She turned her head slightly on the pillow as he returned, now without the elaborate jewelry and makeup that had decorated him earlier. He looked… younger like that. Or perhaps simply more like a person than a display. She watched quietly while he braided his hair and slipped beneath the blankets on the other side of the bed. There was something strangely peaceful about the normalcy of it. No ceremony. No expectation. Just two people at the end of a long day settling into sleep. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out. Alorha envied that. She shifted slightly beneath the covers, turning onto her side and staring toward the dim shapes of the curtains across the room. The moonlight filtering through them painted faint silver lines along the floor. Tomorrow kept creeping back into her thoughts no matter how firmly she tried to push it away. Councils. War discussions. Advisors who had served rulers far more experienced than she was. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, she would be expected to sound certain. She drew a slow breath, folding one arm beneath the pillow as she tried to settle more comfortably. The palace felt impossibly quiet now, its enormous halls muffled by distance and thick stone walls. Back home there had always been small sounds at night — distant footsteps, the rustle of wind through garden trees, the quiet clatter of someone in the kitchens long after supper. The silence here felt heavier. Her thoughts drifted again to the estate. To summer evenings beneath lanterns in the garden. To the scent of roses warming in the last of the sunlight. To laughter echoing down corridors she had known her entire life. She wondered when she would see it again. Eventually she closed her eyes, though sleep still didn’t come easily. Her mind wandered through fragments of memory and quiet worries in equal measure, turning them over again and again like smooth stones in her hands.Beside her, the steady rhythm of Sage’s breathing continued, deep and untroubled. Granted, he was half a stranger, but it was a comfort, and slowly, eventually, finally, she convinced herself to sleep. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage woke at dawn, as he normally did. He'd had a surprisingly comfortable night's sleep though, to the point where he was a little suspicious waking up. It felt almost like he'd done something wrong, or he'd missed something. Slept in for too long. He hadn't, he knew that, but even so it was unusual for him to have slept as well as he had. Then again, feeling safer made a difference in sleeping patterns, and he found himself trusting Alohra. He was wary about giving too much trust too quickly, but he was pretty sure she wasn't going to do anything irrational. He glanced over at where she was still sleeping, soft breaths escaping her every few seconds. He lingered there, where it was warm under the blankets, before forcing himself up with a sigh and moving to get ready quietly. He knew he wouldnt wake her....he'd learned how to move silently years ago, even when handling things like jewelry. He'd become quite good at doing most things without anyone knowing he was there. His routine was the same every morning - brush his hair out, wash his face, do that sort of thing that everyone needed to do in the mornings. Then it was an outfit, and while they all had the same sort of style regardless of the way the months were cooling down as they readied the country for winter, at least his day to day clothes weren't quite so decorative. They were still far more revealing than he really appreciated, but at least he wasn't so bogged down by jewelry in these. There was still plenty of it, but not quite as much as formal wear. The jewelry came last though, so after skipping into the basic outfit he moved to do the makeup he normally did. It was mostly just simple eyeliner and some color that matches the fabric of the outfit, but also had a base coat on his skin to cover any marks like the scar on his cheek, as well as any dark circles under his eyes or blemishes in his skin. Then he did his hair, styled ornately but not quite as fancy as the day before. The jewelry came once that was settled onto his face, layers of chains decorating his body. When he was certain there was nothing that was t perfect, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, covered his face with the veil, and slipped from the bathroom and past Alohra to exit the room and move towards the kitchens. By the time he got there, breakfast was being made. He offered the cook there a bow, to which he simply scoffed and handed him a large plate of food meant for the queen. Sage took it without a word, moving back towards the queens room and slipping inside quietly. She was still asleep, but they had plenty of time so he didn't want to wake her. For now, he set the food on the table, taking the veil off since he was in private quarters, and placed himself in the chair by the windows with a soft sigh, just....watching the outside world while he waited. The smell of the food was making him hungry, though it was custom for the servants to eat after the royals and nobles - their food would come later. Admittedly, half the time the other servants left him with scraps most of the time, so he'd given up eating much in the mornings, but Alohra was given a big plate, so maybe she'd leave him the leftovers. For now, though, he focused on what was happening outside the window, not wanting to think about the day ahead quite yet. |
| |
|
| |
|
Morning crept slowly into the chamber, the heavy curtains softening the dawn into long bands of pale gold that slipped quietly across the floor and the carved posts of the bed. The vast room felt different in daylight. The shadows that had seemed so deep the night before now retreated into warm corners, leaving the space calmer, almost gentle in the early hour. Alorha slept longer than she had meant to. Exhaustion from the journey and the ceremony had eventually dragged her into deeper rest than she expected, and though she stirred once or twice during the night, she did not properly wake when the palace first began to stir around her. It was the smell of food that finally pulled her back to the surface of waking. Warm bread, unmistakably fresh, and something savory beneath it drifted through the air, coaxing her mind slowly away from the hazy edge of sleep. Her brow creased faintly against the pillow before her eyes opened. For a moment she simply stared upward at the unfamiliar ceiling, blinking slowly as her thoughts struggled to arrange themselves. The carved molding above her was elegant but strange, not the familiar pattern she had grown used to seeing each morning. It took several seconds before the previous day returned to her fully — the journey, the ceremony, the weight of watching eyes, the quiet realization that none of it had been temporary. Queen. The thought passed through her mind with the same quiet disbelief it had carried the night before. It still felt like a title that belonged to someone older, someone far more certain. She turned her head slightly on the pillow and noticed at once that the other side of the bed was empty. The blankets there were rumpled only faintly, the warmth already gone. That didn’t surprise her in the slightest. Sage had spoken of rising early, and there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested habit rather than preference. Her gaze drifted across the room until it settled near the window where he sat. Morning light filtered in behind him, catching softly against the jewelry that adorned his clothes. Without the veil he had worn the day before, his face seemed younger somehow, or perhaps simply less distant. For a moment she watched quietly, not wishing to interrupt the stillness of the room too abruptly. Then she noticed the plate set out on the nearby table. The scent of the food reached her more clearly now, and her stomach reminded her with embarrassing enthusiasm that she had eaten very little the day before. Alorha pushed herself upright slowly, the blankets slipping down as she sat. Her hair had escaped entirely from the careful arrangement it had held the night before, soft strands falling loosely over her shoulders and across her cheek. She brushed one aside absently, still half-drowsy as she tried to wake fully. “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice quiet with sleep. The greeting was simple, natural, and without ceremony. She glanced briefly toward the window and the light creeping steadily across the room, then back toward him with a faint, apologetic expression. “Did I sleep terribly late?” She slipped out of bed a moment later, her bare feet touching the cool floor. The silk of her nightgown shifted softly as she stood, stretching once in a small, instinctive motion before catching herself halfway through it. The reminder that she was not alone came a moment too late, and she lowered her arms again with a brief, sheepish smile that acknowledged the lapse. Crossing the room, she paused beside the table and looked down at the breakfast that had been brought. It was more generous than she usually ate in the morning — warm bread, eggs, fruit, and something sweet arranged neatly beside them. For a moment she simply regarded it before glancing back toward Sage. “You brought this up yourself?” she asked, her tone carrying quiet appreciation rather than surprise. She pulled the chair out slightly but did not sit right away. Instead, she lingered there, studying the plate and then, gradually, studying him. It took only a few seconds for her to notice what he had not done. The food had clearly been there long enough for the smell to fill the room, yet he had not touched it. The realization settled into place with the same quiet clarity she had shown the night before. She reached down and picked up one of the pieces of bread, breaking it neatly in half without any sense of ceremony. Holding one piece lightly in her fingers, she glanced back toward him again, thoughtful but calm. “Come here,” she said gently, offering the piece in his direction as though the matter were perfectly ordinary. She paused after the words left her mouth, clearly aware that she had begun speaking more than she intended. Alorha had always had a habit of filling silence when she felt uncertain, and she was keenly aware that she could be too talkative when her nerves were unsettled. Her lips pressed together briefly as if to stop herself from adding another explanation immediately. Still, after a moment she added one quiet clarification, her voice softer now. “I would rather not eat while someone sits across the room pretending they aren’t hungry.” She stopped there deliberately, resisting the urge to keep elaborating. Instead she simply waited, the piece of bread still held out in quiet offering. The morning light continued to spill slowly across the floor, and the enormous chamber felt a little less formal than it had the night before — less like a throne room, and more like a place where two tired people were simply beginning another day. Well... she was tired, to say the least. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage had been perfectly content to just sit by the window, soaking up the warmth of the morning sun that had filtered through the curtains there. Normally, he'd have waited by the bed with the food, but he had a feeling Alohra wouldn't necessarily appreciate being woken with him standing over her and immediately eating while still in bed, so he figured the table would be fine. He was proved right when she woke, lingering in the bed for a while before sitting up and speaking, not focusing on the food right away. At her greeting, he sat back slightly so he could peer over at her. He hadn't jumped at her voice this time, he realized, with a sort of satisfaction shooting through him. The nerves of the day would kick in soon enough, he knew, but he was putting those off for now. "Morning," he noted softly in response, knowing she'd be more comfortable if he responded to her. He was catching on to that, at least. When she asked if she'd slept too late, he shook his head, a brief look of amusement crossing his face. "No, you've got time still," he noted, casting a quick glance at the clock. "I'd have woken you if it got too close," he added with a sort of shrug. Luckily, he was aware that she wouldn't be upset if he did that. The old queen normally woke with a fury unlike much else when he'd done it before for her. He had a feeling things would be different. Better. At least, he hoped so. The outside world would be the same....but at least he could relax a little in this room. He nodded once when she asked if he'd brought the food up himself, a soft hum rising in his throat in a sort of agreement. "I just bring it up from the kitchen," he noted, almost shyly, not entirely sure what to do with her appreciation. That was new. He stayed in the chair until she told him to come to her, rising habitually in response to the command, moving steadily towards her. Though, when she held the bread out, he halted somewhat awkwardly, not entirely sure what she was doing. It had never even crossed his mind that she would be sharing her breakfast with him. "I...we normally get what's left in the kitchens later," he noted, not wanting to take her breakfast. She continued holding the bread out though, explaining why shed rather not eat in front of him if he was hungry, so after a few moments of shocked silence, he moved to slowly take the piece of bread from her and slide into the chair next to hers. He found himself staring at the bread with wide eyes, still not entirely sure how this was going to go. Was it a trick? A test? Really he knew it wasn't....but part of him was still nervous about it. He waited until she'd started to eat before deciding to bite into the bread she'd given him, making a small noise of shock when it practically melted in his mouth. He supposed it was just the difference of being fresh or not, but this was good. Really good. Better than whatever it was he normally had. He finished the rest of it quickly, hunger sated enough for now. He glanced at the clock again once they'd finished eating, wrinkling his nose slightly when he noticed how little time they had before they needed to get to their first meeting. He relayed the time to Alohra quietly, waiting as she got ready for the day, and then opening the door for the maid sent to bring them to the meeting room. As the door opened, he'd replaced the veil over his face, following a step or two behind the women as they moved through the hallway and into the meeting chamber. Alohra was seated at the head of the table, and he took his place beside her, though slightly behind the chair. He was more or less right beside the backing of it. He stayed there, eyes low and hands clasped as others started to arrive and the meeting started to commence. It was a lot of basics, just learning about the land and rules and things like that. Proper etiquette for alhora in public. That sort of thing. None of it really involved him much, so he wasn't listening too closely if he was being honest. |
| |
|
| |
|
The bread had been warm when she handed it to him, and the small moment of shared breakfast had felt oddly normal — disarmingly so. Alorha had not realized how much that small normalcy steadied her until later, when she was dressing and her mind began to circle back toward the approaching morning like a bird returning again and again to the same branch. Every movement felt just a little too deliberate as she prepared for the day. The gown chosen for her was elegant but restrained, pale blue silk with silver embroidery along the sleeves and neckline. It was meant to be regal without overwhelming her, the sort of thing a queen could wear without appearing as though she were trying too hard. Still, as the maid fastened the final buttons and adjusted the fall of the fabric, Alorha couldn’t help the quiet awareness settling in her chest that every person she met today would be studying her — measuring posture, tone, composure, confidence. She tried not to think about that too much as they walked through the corridors, though her mind insisted on wandering there anyway. The palace seemed much more alive in daylight. Servants moved efficiently through the halls, guards stood at attention beside tall doorways, and courtiers passed occasionally in quiet conversation. Every few steps someone bowed or dipped into a respectful curtsy as she passed. Alorha returned each one with a small nod and what she hoped was a calm, practiced smile. Inside, however, her thoughts had already begun to race ahead of her. What if I forget a name? What if they ask something I should already know? What if I sound uncertain? She reminded herself firmly that she had been educated for this — years of tutors and lessons had not been for nothing — but the difference between reciting knowledge and sitting at the head of a governing council felt rather enormous. When they reached the meeting chamber, she paused only briefly before stepping inside. The room itself was long and formal, dominated by an enormous polished table surrounded by high-backed chairs carved with the crest of the crown. Tall windows lined the far wall, letting in pale morning light that reflected softly across stacks of papers, maps, and ledgers already waiting on the surface. Advisors were filtering in gradually — older men in embroidered coats, a few women with carefully arranged hair and sharp, observant eyes, military officers whose posture suggested they had been awake far longer than she had. Each one acknowledged her arrival immediately. Bows. Nods. A murmur of “Your Majesty.” The title still made something flutter nervously in her chest. She hadn't yet earned it. She might never truly. She took the seat at the head of the table because there was nowhere else she reasonably could sit. The chair felt a little too large, the carved back rising high behind her shoulders like a reminder of its purpose. She folded her hands lightly together on the table, careful not to fidget with the sleeves of her gown, and focused instead on keeping her expression composed. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Sage taking his place just behind her chair, slightly to the side. The simple fact that someone she recognized was standing there steadied her more than she expected. She didn't know him - not more than a name, but it was a comfort of sorts. She did not look back at him — that would draw attention — but she felt the quiet reassurance of his presence nonetheless. The meeting began with introductions that seemed to stretch on forever. Names layered over titles, responsibilities, regions of the kingdom they oversaw. Alorha listened carefully, nodding when appropriate, doing her best to commit the important ones to memory while silently reminding herself not to panic if she forgot a few. No one remembered dozens of people immediately. That would be unreasonable. Still, every time someone finished speaking and looked at her expectantly, she felt the faintest flicker of alarm that she might be expected to say something brilliant in response. The early discussions were mercifully practical. Reports about trade routes preparing for winter. Storage estimates for grain and livestock. A brief explanation of current taxes in the northern provinces. She followed the information well enough — none of it was unfamiliar — but speaking aloud in front of them all felt strangely heavier than answering questions in a tutor’s study ever had. When a gray-haired advisor near the middle of the table finished outlining the current supply situation, he glanced toward her with polite attentiveness. “Your Majesty, would you like the council to adjust any of the transport schedules before the snow arrives?” The question was reasonable. Simple, even. Yet for a split second Alorha’s mind went entirely blank. She forced herself to inhale slowly before answering, reminding herself that silence for a moment was not the same as incompetence. “Not yet,” she said carefully, her voice calm despite the rush of thoughts behind it. “I would like to review the numbers in detail this evening first. If adjustments are needed, we can address them tomorrow.” It was not an extraordinary answer, but it was sensible. She saw several advisors nod slightly, which helped settle the tight knot in her chest. Later, the conversation shifted toward the war — a quieter tension moving through the room the moment it was mentioned. A map was unrolled across the center of the table, showing borders and small colored markers indicating troop positions. Alorha leaned forward slightly, studying it with thoughtful focus. She understood the basics from the briefings she had received before arriving, but seeing it laid out like this made the reality of it feel sharper. Villages were not abstract points on parchment. People lived there. One of the military commanders spoke at length about defensive positions along the eastern border. His explanation was precise and professional, though it left Alorha quietly worrying whether she should be asking more questions than she currently was. She did not want to appear uninformed, yet she also refused to pretend understanding where she lacked it. After a moment she lifted her gaze from the map. “How long would it take reinforcements from the southern garrisons to reach this area?” she asked, indicating one of the marked valleys. The commander paused briefly, clearly considering the distance. “Four days, perhaps five in poor weather.” She nodded slowly, absorbing that information while her mind turned over several possibilities at once. She was very aware that she might be speaking too much if she continued pressing questions — yet saying nothing at all would be worse. Finding the balance felt like walking across a narrow beam while everyone watched. “Then I would like contingency plans prepared for both timelines,” she said at last. “If the weather delays them, I don’t want that valley left exposed.” It was not a grand declaration. Simply a cautious one. Still, the general inclined his head in agreement, and a few scribes began writing notes. The meeting continued like that for quite some time. Topics shifting, advisors speaking, papers sliding across the table for review. Alorha contributed where she felt she reasonably could, though she was constantly aware of the urge to fill every quiet moment with additional commentary. Several times she had to remind herself to stop talking before the impulse carried her too far. Listening was not weakness. She had learned that much long ago. Through it all she maintained the steady composure expected of her, though beneath the calm surface her thoughts moved quickly and restlessly, examining every word she spoke the moment it left her mouth. Was that clear enough? Did that sound uncertain? Did I interrupt someone? The questions circled endlessly, but she kept her expression serene and her posture straight, determined that none of that private storm would show. By the time the discussion finally began shifting toward closing remarks, Alorha felt both relieved and oddly energized. She had not collapsed into embarrassment. She had not revealed herself to be wildly unprepared. The court had spoken to her as they would any ruler, and she had answered as best she could. For a first morning, she suspected that might be enough. She stood to leave, her shoulders collapsing as soon as the door shut behind her. Thank god it was over... well, the first bit, at least. |
|
|
| |
|
Sage hadn't paid much attention to the first part of the meeting, though he did listen closer as the war was brought up. That was an important topic, and he'd been around long enough to understand battle strategies and the sort of things that needed to be done. That was one thing he had a knack for, at least, so he figured he could mention to alhora if something seemed off or there might be a other idea later on if he thought of something. She could bring it up to the council. There was nothing like that though, at least not for now in this meeting, so as people started to get up and head back to their rooms, he just focused on getting alhora back to her own chambers and avoiding as many nobles as possible. He was well aware of the conversation around them as they left, some about alhora, but a lot about him too. That wasnt abnormal....the queen had shared him around so quite a few of the conversation bits revolved around that. Snickers, hungry looks as he passed. A few reached out to run their fingers down his arm or back. Snippets of crude comments passed his ears as well - things about his body, or how if the queen didn't want him they'd happily take him. Other more specific details of nights that made a flush form on his face despite his attempts to ignore them. Once alora was settled in her room, he shifted his own path to gather her lunch from the kitchens. There was some sort of salted pork, as well as some steamed veggies and a few other bits and bobs - a pretty common meal. He moved back to the room then, slipping through the doors and setting the plate down on the table again, noting how exhausted alhora looked. "I think you impressed them," he noted quietly as he backed up a few steps so she could sit down and eat if she wanted. They had about an hour, so hopefully her nerves would relax a bit in that time. It was only a few minutes later a knock sounded at the door, and he moved to place the veil over his face again before opening it slightly. Once of the noble pairings - a man and woman married into the royal court, stood there. "Open the door," the man had scolded him, the women wrinkling her nose when she saw him. "You should be ashamed of yourself." He wasn't even sure what they were talking about, but he just took a deep breath, keeping his eyes lowered carefully. "Her majesty is eating lunch," he noted, a clear sign that she wanted to be left alone. Apparently, that fact didn't matter to them, since the moment he spoke up, the woman had backhanded him across the cheek, hard enough to knock him back a few steps with a gasp of pain. Her ring had caught his face as well, and he could feel the trickle of blood there as the pair just ...marched I to the room, the man shoving him roughly to the side and into the wall that was there. The woman was introducing herself to alhora, and then introduced her husband, clearly trying to get a foot in the door in terms of relations with alhora and things if that nature. The old queen had favorite noble families, and they tended to be more prosperous than others. They got gifts - one of which was him from time to time. No doubt these two were trying to get alhora to like them. His head was still ringing from the blow, so he aort of just stood there numbly, not entirely sure what exactly was being said, but catching enough to understand the gist of it. He couldn't do much though, since the man still held him off to the side, the group on his arm no doubt strong enough to bruise the skin there. He was backed into a corner, really, and if he were to argue he was well aware of how badly things could get for him. Alhora too, really. She needed to seem like she had her servants under her control as a queen. Nobles too - so how she handled this situation would be interesting. Making enemies off the bat wouldn't be wise, but they also needed to know they couldn't just barge in here anymore. |
| |
|
Partly Cloudy with Afternoon Drizzle
