While Beauty Slept (35 page)

As I hesitantly walked closer, I saw that it was Rose and Joffrey, deep in conversation. Whatever sounds Dorian and I had made had not traveled this far, for they both startled at my approach and stepped backward to increase the distance between them. While Joffrey was abashed enough to avoid meeting my eyes, Rose addressed Dorian and me in her usual bright manner.

“I have been showing our visitor the tapestries.”

“A challenge indeed, in this dim light,” Dorian noted with mock concern.

I shot him a look and gave Rose’s shoulder a firm push. “There will be time enough to see the sights tomorrow. Come, sir. It won’t do to have our guest of honor go missing.”

As we reentered the Great Hall, I was relieved to see that our appearance did not cause much stir. While Rose and Joffrey’s absence could not have passed unnoticed, my presence as chaperone made their brief outing respectable. Only I knew that they had been together alone, unobserved, a blunder that could have stained Rose’s reputation forever. Rose and Joffrey rejoined the king and queen, while Dorian and I made our way back to our table. He flung one arm possessively around my waist and leaned in close.

“If only they knew what you’ve been up to,” he murmured, then laughed suggestively.

His breath tickled my neck, and my face flushed. I glanced around, hoping my husband’s words had not been overheard. The buzz of conversation surrounding us continued, uninterrupted, but I was suddenly aware of a gaze fixed upon me. I saw a tall figure looming in the doorway, standing utterly still with arms crossed, his very posture a stiff rebuke to the revelry before him. It was Father Gabriel.

I was surprised, then concerned. He often boasted of his indifference to worldly matters; why, then, should he make an appearance this evening? And why was his disdainful gaze directed at me? He could not possibly know of my encounter with Dorian in the stairway, yet I sensed that something in my posture, in my husband’s easy, possessive touch, had given us away. Excusing myself hurriedly from Dorian, I walked over to the monk and greeted him with what I hoped was an innocent expression.

“I did not think I would see you here tonight, Father,” I said. “Did you wish to speak to me?”

“According to the servants’ gossip, Princess Rose made quite a spectacle of herself in the dancing.” He sniffed. “Now I find you escorting her from a private meeting with the ambassador. I had not expected such permissiveness, from you or the queen.”

“It is her father who indulges Rose,” I said with a wry smile. “But I see no harm in her charming our guest. It may even bring the king of Hirathion to our side.”

Father Gabriel’s tight-lipped expression of disapproval did not change. “It’s time that girl was married. She needs a firm hand.”

His words in themselves were not shocking, but I was taken aback by the vehemence of his tone. His role at court was to tend to the queen’s spiritual needs, not the princess’s personal affairs. Was he using his influence with the queen to meddle in matters of state?
Of course not,
I quickly admonished myself, for I had seen no such signs. Chaste men of God, I have found, have little sympathy for young women of a flirtatious disposition, and I could not deny that Father Gabriel’s censure was earned: Rose never should have been allowed to take such liberties.

When I asked Rose later what had transpired in the Receiving Room, she blushed and would not say. I could not tell whether her reticence was intended to cover behavior I would have disapproved of or to hide her disappointment that Joffrey had not attempted such behavior.

The following morning, irritable with frustration, Dorian told me Joffrey had made vague assurances of support but admitted that the king of Hirathion would send no soldiers to aid our cause. The king, furious, had hurled accusations of deception, and the delegation had quit the castle abruptly, without the customary formal farewells.

“We’re on our own,” Dorian muttered.

Sir Walthur had joined us in the family’s sitting room. The hours of fruitless talks had brought dark shadows to his eyes, and his usual sternness was softened by exhaustion. “Hirathion remains an ally,” he said solemnly.

“We are defending the rights of a noble family. A fellow king should find that a cause worth fighting for.”

“You must consider his position. If he sends soldiers here, he’ll be leaving his own lands sparsely defended.”

“Hang all of them,” Dorian said.

Sir Walthur sucked in his breath at his son’s irreverence. I sat silent, as I usually did when father and son argued affairs of state. A woman’s opinion was of no import to either man.

“King Ranolf commands the finest forces these lands have ever seen,” Dorian continued. “It’s time we proved ourselves.”

Sir Walthur shook his head sadly. Then he turned to me.

“There is one matter I must address with you, Elise. When the men from Hirathion departed this morning, I accompanied them to the courtyard to see them off. As they were riding out, their ambassador, Joffrey, swerved aside to speak to someone who was standing by the gates. The person was wrapped in a dark cloak, and I would have paid the encounter little mind had the wind not shifted and blown at the hood. It was Rose. I knew her hair instantly.”

I was surprised, but not shocked. I should have guessed that Rose would seek out a last dramatic farewell with the man who had so fascinated her. I only hoped none of Joffrey’s men had witnessed her impetuous gesture.

“Did anyone else see?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Thank God. But I believe it my duty to notify the king.”

“No, no, please don’t,” I begged. “I will speak to her.”

Sir Walthur sat like an old man, his shoulders stooped and his arms flat and lifeless upon the table. “The young give no thought for consequences. Like those who yearn for battle.” He looked at Dorian. “When word gets out that we have no reinforcements to call on, I don’t see how war can be avoided.”

“I welcome it,” said Dorian, defiant, and I was momentarily chilled by his single-minded craving for bloodshed. As Sir Walthur had noted, his son was relentless in pursuit of his desires, no matter the cost. Just as Rose refused to admit fault when I chided her for running after Joffrey like a loose woman. When I appealed to her good sense, saying it was dangerous to hover so near the castle gates, she smirked.

“More dangerous than walking through St. Elsip?” she asked. “For I have done so and returned quite unharmed.”

“You have gone out?” I asked, horrified. “Alone?”

“No one spares a second glance for a girl in a chambermaid’s dress.”

I understood that she struggled with the constraints of her position, but I had never imagined she would go to such lengths to escape them. I begged her not to slip out again and knew even as she said the words that she would not honor her promise. Yet I never told her parents or asked her maid to report to me on Rose’s movements. I took no actions to stop her. Rose’s outings beyond the walls fed a vital piece of her soul. If I did not tacitly support her furtive attempts at independence, I risked losing her trust—and her love—forever.

Sir Walthur’s fears of war proved prophetic. It was not two weeks after Joffrey and his men had departed that we received devastating news. The fortress of Embriss, once the seat of the deRauley family but controlled for the past decade by soldiers loyal to the king, had been overtaken. I was in the front courtyard with Dorian when the rider arrived, breathless and terrified, his exhausted horse barely able to put one foot before the other. Dorian shouted to one of the stableboys to take the reins. The person who dismounted was little more than a youth, but his eyes were those of one who has seen misery far beyond his years.

Dorian half dragged the messenger to the Council Chamber, where the king was gathered with Sir Walthur and his other advisers. Though it was not my place, I followed at a discreet distance, accompanied by other members of court who sensed the importance of this sudden arrival.

The king bade the young man enter and say his piece. Lingering in the hall, I could only catch glimpses of the men inside, but I heard the boy’s terrible tale clearly. Two days before, marauders had attacked Embriss without warning, storming through the gates like a pack of wolves, eager for blood. Their actions had been swift and ruthless. Bodies had been tossed from turrets and flames devoured the walls as the boy watched in horror from a nearby hill.

“Could you see the attackers?” the king demanded.

“The men leading the charge carried the standard of the deRauleys, three bear heads on a field of yellow,” said the youngster. “One rode a black horse, the largest I’ve ever seen.”

“Marl,” the king said, his voice almost a whisper. Tales of the oldest deRauley brother had taken on the flavor of legend: He was reputed to stand a head taller than any other man and to ride a massive black beast that was more bull than horse. If Marl himself had made the attack, it was an act of war.

Yet how could such a mighty stronghold fall so quickly? Later, when the messenger was dismissed, I offered to take him to the Lower Hall to see he was fed.

“You saw the riders approach the castle?” I asked him.

The boy nodded.

“How did they enter? Surely the walls were well defended?”

“I could not see the gates from where I stood. But it seemed that no time passed before I heard screams from inside.”

There had been no attack, no siege. A traitor had opened Embriss to its enemies, further proof that the king’s hold on his people had grown slack with time. Dorian and his friends may have fancied themselves the bravest soldiers in the land, but swordsmanship is no defense against betrayal.

After years of whispered rumors and uncertain threats, making plans for war brought a cathartic relief to the king and his men. Commanders put soldiers through their paces on the vast tournament field to the south of the castle walls, and hoofbeats thundered through the air. The bellows in the castle armory stayed lit well into the night; I lay in bed listening to the clink of metal. Queen Lenore spent her days at prayer in the chapel, Father Gabriel at her side. She would rule in the king’s name during his absence, and I feared that the weight of such duty would hang heavy upon her. Yet she faced the prospect of her husband’s departure with serene acceptance, for which I grudgingly credited Father Gabriel’s ministrations. I could forgive his aloof manner toward me and the rest of the court as long as his prayers gave strength to the queen.

Beyond the royal apartments, the days leading up to the army’s departure saw an outbreak of lusty couplings, as many young women who had denied their suitors certain favors suddenly put aside their qualms. Any man in armor was much swooned over, his faults overlooked and his bravery praised. Even I found myself clinging to Dorian in a way much contrary to my usual reserve during the few hours he was not out training his men.

The night before the army was to march off, Dorian stomped into our room long past nightfall. Drained by the day’s events, he collapsed onto the bed with a grunt of satisfaction. I fetched the water pitcher and washed off his grimy face as he lay back, eyes closed, worn out from his exertions. Gently, I pushed his disheveled hair back from his forehead, listening to his slow, even breathing. Just when I thought he had fallen asleep, he reached up and drew me tight against his chest. I did not speak when he pulled off my dress, nor when I eased his tunic up over his shoulders. We came together silently, his rough soldier’s hands stroking my delicate skin as if he could preserve memories by touch.

I expected Dorian to fall asleep afterward, as was his habit, but his impending departure sparked an uncharacteristic tenderness. He lay on his side, facing me, twisting his fingers through my curls.

“The thought of lingering with you is almost enough to make me regret the coming of war.”

There was no teasing smile, no lighthearted laughter. For that brief moment, I saw us as we could have been, had we learned to speak honestly and openly to each other. Perhaps it was still possible for us to forge a true partnership when the war had passed.

“Linger a while longer, then,” I murmured, rubbing my palms against his chest.

Flush with affection, I considered telling him the secret I had been holding for some weeks. Missing one monthly course was hardly sure proof that I was with child, and I was fearful of raising his hopes and mine until more time had passed. Would it be better to wait, I wondered, and present him with a full belly on his return? I envisioned a weary and mud-spattered Dorian riding home from battle, myself waiting at the castle gates to share the news.

“I shall miss these soft hands when I’m bedded down in a field with a horde of filthy soldiers,” Dorian said.

“You won’t have time for such remembrances,” I said, teasing. “You will be too busy boasting.”

“You know me too well,” he said with a wry smile. “I cannot deny it, I am ready to fight. Ready to see this settled.”

Already Dorian’s thoughts were on those northern battlegrounds. Drawing his attention to other matters would be no kindness, and I decided to say nothing of my condition. If I were wrong and this monthly interruption was no more than woman’s trouble, he need never know of it.