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A Fractured Kingdom (Fates.Gamble & Alexandra1405)

Hadrian wore a face of stone while Arielle lingered. She was clearly swept up in that whirlwind of events, not that he could blame her. Hadrian was still flush with heat, his heart a wild thrum against his ribs even as he stood there, waiting for her to leave. It was for his own good that he dismissed her so promptly. It was the only way to maintain his sanity after an encounter like that. And now that he’d shown her up and proven how easily he could mislead her, he wanted to solidify the point. Odds were if she remained the cracks would begin to show in his armor. And as close as he was to the edge, he knew Arielle could easily topple him over and take back to lead if she were persistent enough. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to resist her when he did…

Masterly, he kept his expression placid even as Arielle stopped in the doorway and took his hand with such confusion written in her gaze. He did not look upon her unkindly, but resolution was in those seafoam eyes, making it clear that his decision to send her away was absolute. And that seemed enough to silence whatever she might have said, leaving her words unfinished before she finally took her leave. Alone again, Hadrian released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and quietly closed the threshold in her wake. What the hell am I doing? He berated himself as he stood there, reflecting over what just happened. He’d let things go way too far just then. He had to remember that this woman was a threat. She herself had only just admitted to plots of malcontent; claimed he had fallen right into her plans if not for the blindside of his offer. One night was all that separated her from those plans and taking up his bed, legs spread wide. And more than inviting, he thought, recalling the way those same, strong legs had wrapped about his waist and pulled him in.

His heart was picking up again as the scene played in his mind, so fresh and vivid, and then over so quickly he was questioning whether any of that had just happened at all. But it did, and in an effort to distract himself from the reminders Hadrian set about making himself presentable. He donned himself in a of dark trousers and a brilliant white undershirt, long sleeves coming to cuff at his wrists. Over that went a black jerkin of the finest leather, fastened by a row of buttons running down the right side of his breast. Soft boots of rich, dark leather were the last article to be pulled on before Hadrian finally left his chambers and put himself to work. He hadn’t been lying when he told Arielle there was much to do. If the king was to be leaving for a royal tour soon, it would strike no small amount of chaos into the every day workings of the city.

His first task was to send heralds to each of his councilors, and that was sure to ruffle a few feathers. They’d only just come to meet the day before, though they’d grown used to sudden gatherings over the course of this taxing, bloody war. For that very reason each of Hadrian’s officials primarily kept to their estates within the city, allowing them to be close enough to convene at any given time. Arielle and her father had been wily opponents in this campaign, and so Hadrian kept his royal council ready to react whenever necessary. No doubt a few of them were even expecting this meeting. The lords had grown suspect in his attempt to keep his proposal to the rebel queen under his hat. At the very least, they all knew something was up, and the impending revelation of the truth left Hadrian with a cold tingle in his spine.

With his summons sent, Hadrian moved onto the matter of the tour they were planning. He considered the retinue they might bring, counting heads in his mind and debating over a plausible number for making such a journey. Given the aggressive nature of their destination he preferred to make the trip as light as possible. Trusted and necessary men only, making them a small enough force to move quickly when they had to. But there was also no telling just what sort of hostility they would be met with. The northerners weren’t exactly known for their subtlety, and he wanted his people well defended should they be attacked. It was a delicate balance, and one that would require no amount of refining on Arielle’s part; she knew her people better than he did, after all.

Hadrian had the bare bones of their travel arrangements underway by late morning. The men he set about to task did not make it easy for him, with all their questioning, but Hadrian made it no less difficult in his stubbornness to avoid giving them direct answers but demanding it all be ready within two days time. He king refused to tell them the nature of this royal trip, nor even exactly where they were going. Though, the words ‘North’ drew some attention, and was as adept at putting them to work as it was silencing their questions. If the king was riding off into enemy territory, the less they knew about it the better. But that did not satiate their curiosity, and no doubt the air would be full of rumors by the evening.

Throughout the day Hadrian was continually plagued with thoughts of Arielle and that heated encounter they shared. Every time he’d be in the middle of some important discussion or trying to calculate something in his head there it would be: The memory of her soft thighs locked around him, or the way her hair brushed against his skin as she came in to nip at his shoulder. But it wasn’t the only way she frustrated him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could recall her ominous words as well. Even with how quick he was to dismiss her dream Hadrian still found himself pondering over it, wondering at the warning she gave. The man with the serpent tongue will be your downfall, he would repeat in his mind. And beware the silver man…

He couldn’t make heads of tails of any of it. He had to assume that serpent tongue was a metaphor, having never met a man with a forked tongue in his life, but there were no few sly talkers here in this city. That could allude to anyone and everyone close to him especially. But the silver man? What was that supposed to mean? Gibberish, he condemned Arielle’s omens, brushing them aside again as he strode through the citadel in search of the breakfast he missed. Gibberish or not, he was still batting it around by the time the servants brought him a freshly cooked meal. Hadrian hated being a puzzle he couldn’t solve, even if it was likely just a bunch of nonsense. Throughout his repast he was consumed with trying to figure out the riddle, as well as sparing a thought for the woman who posed it. Whatever could she be doing in her spare time, he wondered. The castle seemed awfully quiet without her around.

~

The morning seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and before he knew it the meeting was soon upon him. Hadrian hoped he’d manage to intercept Arielle beforehand, but had no such luck as he strode the grounds, making his way to the council chamber and keeping a careful eye out for that redheaded mess of trouble. She promised she would reserve herself but Hadrian knew the girl was a wild card at best, and he was still a little nervous over putting her into play. Suppose being in that stuffy room, surrounded by men who’d been plotting her downfall for years was just too much temptation for her? Or suppose his councilors took to yanking the lion’s tail and seeing how she roared. No matter the outcome, there was no denying this was going to be one highly volatile mix. Hadrian was a bundle of nerves just considering the course this announcement would set them on.

There was still no sign of Arielle by the time he neared his destination, and he had to wonder if Caius was in part, to blame for that. The Shield of the King was waiting for him in the throne room, and the change of conduct among the members of his royal guard was palpable. The number of the sentries had been doubled by his command, including at least two men posted at every threshold. He’d given Arielle free reign to move about anywhere that wasn’t important, but Hadrian thought if she snuck to her normal, sneaking ways, she’d be hard pressed to make it very far without coming up with a few good alternative routes. He wondered if she could even remember the layout of the castle well enough to pull that sort of thing off. Those childhood days they spent exploring this immense bastion were hazy at best, but he could still remember the thrill of running through those musty old corridors, and scaling all the way up to the belfries. There were a million and one different passages to take if one cared to look, especially back then when they were small enough to squeeze through almost anywhere.

“Your Majesty,” Caius greeted the Hadrian as he entered the great hall. He dipped his head in a bow of respect, he grizzled face remaining placid as ever.

“Have the others arrived?” he inquired, his Shield falling in at his side as he approached the throne.

“All but Lord Auden and this mystery guest of yours,” replied his stalwart guard. His voice was cool and knowing.

Hadrian had told him nothing of Arielle’s invitation to the meeting, but he’d ordered an extra seat be added to the table. That was sure to give things away to anyone who knew she spent the night within these very same walls. Hopefully the other lords were not privy to that tidbit… Should they learn the two of them had already shared chambers who knew what sort of things they would proclaim? Given her heritage at least one of them was bound to claim her a heathen from the north, using her gypsy magic to weave a spell of seduction over their sovereign lord. His head was already throbbing over the thought. But Hadrian was more concerned with the fact Arielle was yet to arrive at all.

What mess has she gotten herself into now? He grumbled to himself. Things were looking no better by the time Auden finally arrived, looking spry as ever as he passed through the colossal doors of the throne room. At times it was easy to forget the man had been around since the days of his grandfather. He carried himself so proud and tall that Hadrian was beginning the think the man invincible. He wasn’t, of course, and even now Hadrian couldn’t help but recall those younger days before that snowy plane took his head. If only his predecessors had utilized the man’s full potential back then, maybe things would be looking far better for their kingdom now.

The three of them lingered in the hall for a short time, exchanging pleasantries while Hadrian silently fussed over his bride to be. It seemed she would not be on time as expected of her, and at this point he had little choice but to move things along. He nodded an order to the men guarding the threshold, and at once they moved to shut the formidable doors. The thundering resonance of their closure echoed all across the stone fortress, making Hadrian painfully aware of Arielle’s absence as their group moved past the throne and through the door into the chambers beyond. The council room was among one of the most lavish, and well-kept chambers of the castle, with a large, mahogany table that served as the imposing centerpiece.

Carefully placed around the table were the chairs of his councilors, each marked with the sigil of their house or badge of office to designate their places. The grandest of these seats was of course saved for Hadrian, the crowned raven of his house spreading its wings wide across the leatherback chair. Most of the seats were already taken, but all of them vacated at the regent’s arrival. Every man was on his feet, showing their respect, muttering his praises and greetings. Hadrian waved them all down as he took his seat, with Auden taking his own seat as Royal Advisor and Caius standing some paces behind the king, ever watchful in his own role. But today Hadrian indicated the seat normally reserved for his commander of the guard.

“While you sit the position, you sit the table,” he explained.

Caius looked apprehensive over that proposition, his serious face scanning the lengthy table and lofty chair, surrounded by these fat cat lords and seemed like he would rather have been anywhere else. But he did not argue, and begrudgingly took on his new duties as he settled into his chair. That still left a fair number of vacancies, most notably of which was the new addition. Every man’s eyes had fallen upon the empty chair taking up space to the right of the king. It bore no sigil or badge, but it left every man curious to know who demanded such a prime piece of real estate as to sit the king’s right hand. Hadrian caught each and every glance they made at Arielle’s spot, noting the nervous anticipation.

“Are we to have a council meeting every day now?” Boomed the voice Lord Jedrek. “There’s a war to be won, Your Grace. And it’s not going to happen by sitting around here.”

The Lord Commander of his forces had always been a man entirely focused on the job. For the better part of the campaign he’d proven the main hurdle in Arielle’s attempt to topple the monarchy. Hadrian had set the rules but for the largest part of cat and mouse had been going on between she and his general. The man was brutally efficient at his job, and even though he’d been one of the loyalest member’s of his father’s original council, few men could rival his experience when it came to war. Thus far he’d proven a loyal dog to the crown, but he did wonder how the man would react to the news that the war he’d been fighting all these long years was now officially over. He clearly wasn’t expecting it. Even now he had maps prepared, the vast reaches of their severed kingdom unfurled across the table for all to see. Rooks and figures were peppered across the divide, indicating their infantry movements and what they knew of the enemy’s. After Hadrian’s reluctance to speak of the conflict the day before, it was easy to see where he expected the conversation to go today.
“I disagree,” Hadrian replied, sitting back in his chair as his cup-bearer entered to offer the nobles some refreshments, and even more importantly, wine. Maybe the spirit would cloud their minds, making them more amenable and open to the new direction things were about to go. “In fact,” he paused, allowing the servant to fill his goblet before continuing on, “I think if we put our minds towards it, we might be capable of putting an end to this war here and now. Right at this very table.”

“Just like that?” His royal secretary quipped, tapping at his sharp, hooked nose, with a spark of mirth in his eyes. “That’d be a sight after 20 years of misfortune. Ending wars aside, I for one am curious to know what happened to our old Commander of the Guard, and why your Shield now sits his place?”

“He let a rat get into the kitchens last night,” Hadrian told him pointedly.

“So a man loses his position on the council ,and the entire castle is buzzing with soldiers... because of a rat?” The secretary marveled, quirking a brow whilst lifting a chalice of wine to his lips.

“You didn’t see the size of it.”

Inevitably, his thoughts turned back to Arielle. No one dared to asked the King about her vacant seat yet, but the elephant in the room was clear. At this point he wondered if this delay was intentional; an attempt at testing his orders as she prepared some grand, fashionably entrance. He would look a fool if he made the announcement without her now, and that could easily have been her intentions as well. Inwardly, he was seething, but Hadrian did not let it show to his councilors. Instead he thought of a way to buy time, his eyes falling upon the oldest living member of their powerful circle.

“Lord Francis,” he called for the elder’s attention, “Why don’t you go over the accounts again?” Groans and muttering broke out across the table almost at once. They’d just gone over this yesterday, after all, and the numbers weren’t going to get any better simply because they slept on it. One stern look from the king was enough to silence their misgivings, though not enough to erase the sour look on their faces. “As you’ll soon find out,” he started to say once they’d given him silence, “We have a couple of big expenses on the horizon. I want to make sure everything is in check before we go forward.”

That was, if they would be going forward with any of this at all. If her absence at this council meeting was anything to go by, she wouldn’t make it to the wedding even if they planned one.
 
Arielle hadn’t bothered to linger at the jeweller’s shop in the city’s centre, she saw absolutely no point in remaining behind to watch him stare at a seemingly worthless rock. Though, she would have been greatly amused should she have been there to see his face once he began to chip away at the surface to reveal what it really was. That rock, that seemingly nothing rock, had been carried with her every where for the past ten years. When had she even found it? She wasn’t entirely sure and wasn’t certain that she remembered the events correctly. What she did know was that it was, and is, priceless and incredibly rare even within the lands that it is forged from, never mind the summer city she found herself within now. Diamonds might glitter but they were common. There was absolutely nothing that could compare to a Moonglow Stone. Arielle had made the specific request that whatever scraps, even if it were deemed common dirt, would be kept. She had a particular idea in mind, and had left behind a small piece of parchment with a sketch of what she wanted. She’d given Archibald artistic license, of course, as she was no jeweller and did not understand how such things were crafted. Nevertheless, she had designed and ordered only the best for Hadrian; the least she could do for him considering.

After her little adventure into the streets of the city, quite enjoying not having to keep to the shadows and alleyways like a feral cat, Arielle had meandered through the laneways to find herself in the city’s library and records. A rather dull building, set further down the street from the jewellers and marketplace, but one that commended respect as it loomed above the street. She’d been to such a place as a little girl, but hadn’t had the time nor the invitation to return. It had always been her favourite place; with levels upon levels of bookshelves of various parchments, maps, old laws and books. It was easy to get lost within the shelves and then within worlds or history; whatever tickled one’s fancy.

It wasn’t long at all before Arielle found herself on the floor, with her back against leather spines of old volumes of bound history, with her knees almost bent into chest with a book on her thighs. A small, haphazard stack sat to her right, a few thick volumes set out around her in a semi-circle, open to pages that all seemed to correlate but didn’t seem to make any sense. Well, that was how it appeared as Arielle frowned in confusion down at the pages in her lap, before she rolled her weight forward and set her book down aside another.

This doesn’t make sense. Same year, same day...it’s even the same battle, but how is this documented so differently? This tidbit wasn’t what she was searching for, but only made her search that all the more important in her eyes. One book, a number of figures that appeared more like a ledger, was yanked forward from the semi circle as a finger pressed against a large number. How was this even possible and how was this not noticed? Surely this would have been looked into.....Hadrian isn’t foolish enough to simply discard such information. Especially not when it has to do with that. This, she decided, was absolutely no coincidence, despite what it might have been ruled as during an inquiry that she was sure had to have happened.

No one bothered her, some pausing at the mouth of the aisle she had made into her home only to a double take and quickly continue onwards. She was, she needed to remind herself, in the territory of the enemy and it was only natural for them to stare. No, she had to remind herself, Hadrian and these people are not the enemy. There are no enemies. The only ones that still exist are the people that don’t want peace. It was hard, though, to think that she and Hadrian were no longer on opposite sides of a war considering the length of time that it had been engrained into her. It had become less of a belief and more of a fact, and it was proving itself difficult to re-write.

And so, Arielle continued, tucked away in a corner of the library in a patch of sunlight, her hair illuminated by golden rays, for hours.

* * *​

It hadn’t taken much effort at all for Arielle to creep inside the kitchen, and donn a set of servant’s clothes. Whomever now had nothing to wear was quite clearly several sizes larger than the fiery spirited rebel, who looked as though she were swimming in cream and brown rags that did not do her justice. Still, she was recognisable. This damn hair. It gave her away wherever she went. It was both her call to arms and her execution order. It was also something she swore Hadrian was admiring earlier in the morning when it had spilt about her face as he’d thrown her upon his bed. A white servant’s cap was able to hold up red tendrils, and with a few steaks of soot across her cheeks, Arielle was quite certain that they wouldn’t recognise her. It might be believed in this city that women should be seen but not heard, but servant’s should be neither. Keep my eyes down, and focus on the task at hand, and they won’t notice that I linger a little longer than a good servant should. Besides, they’d be all too consumed with who is late to arrive and who that chair is for. And Hadrian will be all to worried about whether I’ve stood him up again. Arielle brushed down the servant’s dress that hid her entire shape, she let a breath out from between her soot-smudged lips.

* * *​

The wine jug was held out from her chest, Arielle bent forward at the shoulders in an unattractive slump. Even her usual confident strut of a walk had become a slow and shuffling meander. She did, indeed, keep her eyes lowered to the floor and was careful to remain just over their shoulders as part of the background. They wouldn’t notice her, she hoped, considering their attention was elsewhere and they’d have no reason to inspect the face of a servant. All goblets were slowly, and meticulously filled, though she purposefully dribbled a few drops of wine across the table and into the lap of the Lord Commander, earning a curse and him snatching a rag from her hand in attempt to mop up the mess. He’d always been a right, royal pain in her ass; why wouldn’t she do such a thing when she had the chance?

Finally, Arielle came to hover just behind Hadrian as she eyed his empty goblet with anticipation. She began to worry things that she knew to be silly; like whether he would recognise the scent of her after coming so close just after dawn, or whether he’d somehow feel her presence and figure her out. Silly, they were, because there was absolutely no way that Hadrian could realise such a thing. She’d seen the disinterest in his eyes, that cold depth to his deadpan orbs that made her heart drop after it had taken flight. How silly she’d been to think he wasn’t playing her.

Stepping forward, just a fraction, Arielle was careful to remain as silently as possible as his goblet was filled almost to the brim with dark wine; only making her move to poor when he was distracted in conversation. Arielle did, however, have to take pause and move back into the shadows when he mentioned there having been a rat within the kitchen. A rather large one. There was absolutely not doubt that Hadrian was alluding to her. Should it have stung as much as it did to know he considered her vermin? Why did she even care? Copper brows found their way to furrow together in the hurt as she remained by the wall, clutching the jug as conversation ensued.

A man, his hair the shade of polished silver, was seated furthest from Hadrian, almost at the end. He was hunched in his seat from age and years of bad posture, curling into himself even as he reclined a fraction. His eyes weren’t particularly beady, though perhaps would better be described as sunken; dark brown and weary. Though, there was a small sparkle to them that was almost akin to Arielle’s own mischief; a shine that could only come from innate wickedness. Skin was a warm shade of olive and wrinkled, the backs of his hands decorated with darker patches of sunspots from years as a young man labouring in the sun. He hadn’t always been in a position of such high standing, and it showed. This man was short in stature, not even half the height of most of those surrounding the table, and a gnarled wooden stick leaned against the table just to his left. He was dressed in flowing robes of navy blue and granite greys, with a piece of fabric that wasn’t quite a cloak draped over one shoulder. This man, Francis Jenkin, was a man of many opinions, and the first to speak when the regent at the head of the table request he go over the accounts.

“With all due respect, my liege,” Francis’ voice was weathered and frail, though smooth around the edges as he spoke with wisdom down the length of the table, “I do believe that there are more important things to discuss on such a fine afternoon, other than the accounts. They have not changed since yesterday, I’m afraid.” The wood of his chair creaked a little even under his slight weight as Francis clasped his hands together and leaned forward. The dark chocolate gaze rose to meet the much younger and far more handsome features of Hadrian’s face. “There is word on the street of a redhead wandering about with absolutely no care in the world, almost as if she were welcome. Not a single guard seemed to have batted an eye today, even as she moved throughout the city and made her way to a jewellers.”

Arielle found herself scowling as she silently leaned against the wall, completely forgotten about. The words spoken to her in her mother tongue resonated within the back of her skull from her Waking, and she found her eyes narrowing at the man who was, quite definitely, silver. Well, so much for keeping it a secret in the hopes of surprising him....

Francis, leaning back against his chair after delivering quite a pointed and knowing look down the table at their king, looked between the younger faces of the men gathered around him. “And for a wedding ring, no less. I wonder who could be foolish enough to believe himself reckless enough to try and tame such a wild, feral thing.” Arielle bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes shifted towards the brooding King. “I certainly hope that they aren’t marrying for love. A creature such as her, stained by the North, just simply isn’t capable of love. Not like the rest of us civilised folk.” His chortle was low in his throat, and not a bit pleasant as he continued, “Imagine trying to get a woman like her to find her place within the home. Impossible!”

The Lord Commander shifted on his seat, clasping the stem of his goblet as he grumbles; “Perhaps we should take her head while she struts around our streets, thinking herself free when she is, most certainly, not.” His gaze darkened as it drifted to the King’s Shield. “To hear that the guards have done absolutely nothing has me questioning your competence.” Eyes narrowed pointedly. “Perhaps, just as the man before you allowed a rat entry into the kitchen, you have let vermin into the city to shit in our faces and laugh.”

She’d heard enough. It wasn’t that they’d touched a nerve by calling her vermin just as Hadrian had slyly suggested, or that they were beginning to blatantly insult her. Arielle didn’t need to hear very much more to understand the men within the room. So, making a silent move to a corner just beyond Hadrian, Arielle turned her back to the table and slowly began to undress. Their attention might not have been pulled toward her before, where she’d simply been some lowly servant that wasn’t worth their time nor thought, but now she was something bizarre and unexplained.

The apron was untied and dropped to the floor, the skirt pulled away next as she bent at the waste to reveal tight black pants that did not hide her curves as the servant’s clothes had.

“Good lord, woman! Keep your clothes on. Do you know you are in the presence of the King?” The Lord Commander shot from his seat, rising to stand as a hand came to his hip for a dagger. How dare a woman of such little standing begin to undress so improperly? Cream blouse was dumped into the pile, but it was the cap that kept her hair from view that took the cake.

Red tendrils of loose curls waterfalled down the gentle curve of her back, falling just above those wide hips as Arielle shook out her hair over narrow shoulders. Running milky fingers through the red locks, Arielle turned to face them with a rather smug smile. “I certainly do know who I share my company with, yes. Though, thank you for taking the time to remind me.” Her steps were small, though not the same saunter as she usually stalked about, as she moved to a dark corner and collected three large scrolls she’d left there two hours prior.

“And so the rat finally creeps out of its hole,” Francis muttered smugly as he settled his clasped hands into his back. “A rather ripe rat, to be exact. Good for skewering.”

Arielle, somehow, managed to keep her face from contorting into a snarl of disgust at the old man’s comments as she moved with her arms full of scrolls to the table to promptly settled into the seat beside Hadrian. She hadn’t poured herself a goblet, but saw no matter in the issue as she’d simply share her betrothed’s. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Arielle spoke clearly, almost honestly, as she turned to look at Hadrian for a quick moment; seeming to silently say, I took your order seriously. Did I prove myself to you? The scrolls bounced a little atop the table as she set them down before her, rolling them to settle between she and Hadrian, something she’d come to explain later. “Lord Commander,” Arielle called to the brutish looking man, setting him with a hard gaze before she offered a rather sinister smile, “You can rest assured that I will not shit in your faces and laugh. I might be born of northerner blood, but I still know my manners.”
 
Arielle was good; a little too good in fact, as Hadrian would soon come to find. She remained right under their noses, none of the lords seeming any wiser about it. Even Hadrian, who’d gotten closer to her than any man could dream of this morning, remained oblivious to her presence. It was more than a little impressive given her recognizable features, especially those idiosyncratic eyes of hers. To her benefit, these rich and powerful men rarely looked twice at a servant. The quiet bodies that served them were like white noise to the imposing nobles. All she had to do was keep her eyes down and not even the king would be aware there was a rebel in their midst.

But unlike the proud lords surrounding him, Caius the Quick did not spend his days in this world sucking on some silver spoon. It was his job to be aware of any potential threat to the regent, no matter who or what that might be. And like Arielle, he took his job very seriously. As such, he made a habit out of familiarizing himself with anyone who regularly attended the king. Especially those who had a hand in serving food and wine. Of all the ways to kill a sovereign, none was easier than a poisoning. Needless to say, Arielle drew his suspicions at once. But she played her role to perfection, never giving him a true look at her face, and there wasn’t much else to go on.

The King’s Shield was just on the verge of calling out to the woman, hoping to grab her attention and confirm his suspicions, when the Jedrek decided to take a jab at him. The mousy servant girl was carelessly forgotten as he turned his cold gaze to the Lord Commander of their forces instead. The pompous twit of a general had no idea of what he spoke, and as much as he would have liked to show him up, it was not his place to speak of his sovereign’s orders.

“Perhaps you’re right my lord,” he replied, his voice smooth yet sharp as a dagger, “Who better to recognize incompetence than our leading general? If you hadn’t been losing this war for 20 years maybe we wouldn’t have to tolerate rebels on the doorstep in the first place.” Jedrek bristled over that, hazel eyes burning with a touch of fury beneath his thick, grey, brows. Caius met his fierce gaze with one every bit as challenging.

”My how quickly your Shield takes to that council seat,” rumbled the Lord Commander. “Mind you don’t forget your place, bodyguard.”

Hadrian might have put a stop to the arguing, but thought it might be good if they got a little of the hostility out now, before they discovered just how welcome Arielle was going to be in the city. His mind was distracted besides, as the king was left pondering over the information his treasurer had just divulged. Wedding ring? He thought to himself, completely unsuspecting that she would be seeing to something so personal already. It was as confusing as it was surprising, though, as that was no excuse for her absence now. A jeweller was not enough to hold one back from an all important council meeting. Where in the world is she? He wondered, not for the first time.

Francis was careless with the way he spilled his words. He would likely come to regret them once he realized it was the King himself that planned to take her for a bride. Hadrian was contemplating calling him out on the unwitting insult there and then, if they hadn’t stung so bad. How could he claim to keep Arielle in check if she wouldn’t even show up to the first thing he asked of her? It was one of the thousand concerns swirling about in his head, an ever-growing maelstrom at this point. And that managed to distract him enough that the quarrel between Caius and Jedrek managed to go on a touch more than it should have, as both men redoubled in their insults.

“Come now, my lords,” Cried his Chancellor from the left, a scruffy looking man with pale blue eyes and a wiry mustache that dropped past his chin. “Surely we spent enough of our time arguing yesterday?” Ever the diplomat, or seeming to be anyway. Hadrian knew what a schemer his head of foreign affairs could truly be.

“Indeed,” Murmured his Minister of Justice, sounding gruff as he sat back, nursing his wine. “I spend half my bloody days listening to this bloke did that or that one this. I don’t mean to sit here listening to you lot going on accusing one another like the rest.”

It was not their protests that finally silenced the Lord Commander, but rather the spectacle taking place in the corner of the room. His reaction brought the rest of the council to stir, every man turning their attention to the servant girl behind the king. Naturally Hadrian roused, searching all their faces before twisting around to see what all the fuss was about. What a sight he was granted as the rags were discarded to reveal the hidden beauty, a cascade of fire spilling down to identify her even before he even understood what was going on. As good as he was at masking his thoughts, Hadrian could do nothing to hide the look of surprise. It was all he could do to keep his mouth from hanging open. She’d been there the whole time? Poured his wine and everything, and he hadn’t a clue!

Hadrian was left gaping while Arielle pulled off her entrance, the rest of them as stunned as their sovereign. Only Lord Francis was keen to speak upon seeing her materialize out of nowhere, and Hadrian had to wonder if the old man had already put it all together. He was a clever one, no question of it. Even the king held his tongue while she announced herself and took the intended seat, sweeping away all curiosity over who it was meant for. There was much to be said for his gaze, though, as Arielle met his eye as though inviting his criticism. It was difficult to tell whether he approved or disapproved, what with the way he was scowling, but he was none the least impressed she pulled it off, and that showed in the gleam of his seafoam eyes.

It was a good move on Arielle’s part; the perfect counter to the one he’d pulled on her in bed this morning. Hadrian was sobered by the thought that Arielle could sneak herself into even the most secure chambers and become a ghost; always there but never seen. The revelation had him re-evaluating this dance between them, as well as realizing he would have to be a lot more conscious and perceptive of the world around him if he was to avoid his father’s fate. He made a note of that as his eyes fell upon the scrolls she’d brought along, his curiosity piqued. Perhaps she had a good reason for acting the way she did…

“More like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” The Royal Secretary commented, looking very impressed and interested over what just happened. “And among our flock because…?”

The Lord Commander was more direct with his curiosity. “Why is this traitor sitting among us?” he demanded to know. He’d only just seemed to remember the figures representing their forces, and lunged for the map, tearing it away and letting the pieces scatter as thought she didn’t already have all the time in the world to memorize them.

“She has come at my invitation,” Hadrian told him coolly, “And you would do well to control your temper, my Lord. Sit down.”

Jedrek followed the order, sinking back into his chair while his eyes bore into Arielle like he was the wolf and she the doe he’d been hunting for years now. The predator had met with her in a stalemate, but that expression in his eyes was ravenous as it had ever been. So close to his prey, yet denied by the alpha of his pack.

Hadrian stilled himself, letting silence fall over their congregation for a moment as he prepared to break the news to the lot of them. Auden and Caius were far from surprised by this turn of events. He’d already confided in his advisor, and Caius had managed to put two and two together by now. His secretary maintained his look of intrigue while Francis almost seemed amused by her presence. It was the other three that worried him the most. He knew to expect a negative reaction from both Master of War and Minister of Justice. Neither of the men had ever supported peaceful talks with the insurgents. After their personal investments, there was only one way they wanted this war to end, and Hadrian knew they would never accept his decision to wed the enemy. His chancellor he was less sure of, but he looked disturbed by the situation, perhaps already dreading what the king would say.

Once everything was placid, like a calm before the storm, Hadrian finally stood up to make the announcement. “Lord Francis,” he started, turning his attention on elderly man with a calculating look. “You asked me what sort of reckless fool would think himself capable of marry such a wild spirit.” He’d actually used the words ‘tame’ and ‘feral thing’ but Hadrian had the good taste not to repeat it exact, “Well it’s time you all knew that I have asked for the Lady Arielle’s hand in marriage. And, to my great joy, she has accepted. So… As she is to be your future Queen, you might consider showing her a little more respect.” He let that sink in, absorbing the stony silence for a moment before he went on.

“Our time spent shedding the blood of our brothers to the north is done,” he told them, “Gone are the days we’ve spent fighting a war between two men who no longer draw breath. With our union, we intend to heal the wound that has torn at the heart of our country for too long now. From this point on, Eirlea will no longer be a fractured kingdom torn apart by our differences, but a united front upon which every man, be they of the north or south, has a right to be heard.”

There was a reluctance to speak as the council sat, each man swallowing what he’d just learned. As perturbed as Lord Commander Jedrek looked by the news, it was nothing compared to the red faced anger of the Minister. Yet, it was his chancellor that spoke first. “If I may, Your Grace?” he announced himself. “Is this not a little rash? I mean, this… this… Rebel is hardly fitting material for a bride. Even if we excused her treason, you are a man of much finer nobility. The Aldrich bloodline reaches as far back as history itself. One of your lineage, the last male heir of which, I might add, deserves a far more noble bride. You’ll receive no lack of royal offers. An alliance with the right neighboring kingdom would be a far more efficient method of putting an end to this war. With support, we can take back our rightful lands without bartering for them. They say the princess of Loria is a beauty unlike any other. She might not be quite as exotic,” ” The Chancellor’s eyes brushed over Arielle with distaste, “But she bears the noble blood fit enough to carry on your line, at least.”

The Lord Commander spoke his piece before Hadrian could even respond. “Your Grace the northerners are clever,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief over this circus of an idea. “And savage besides. They don’t care about making peace, they only care about taking back what was never theirs. You turn your back on them, start giving them the benefit of the doubt, and you’ll find a knife between your ribs before you know it. I beg you to reconsider.”

“The war is over, Lord Jedrek,” he firmly stated. “My decision is final. I can understand if you need time to make peace with that, but it is the only choice left for you.” He looked to his Minister, who’s face was beet red against that braided, silvery beard, but said nothing. He looked brimming to burst though, with all the things he was thinking. Hadrian thought the man had to be biting down on his tongue to keep it silent. He decided to move ahead before he failed in that endeavor.

“Now then,” he began, turning his attention to Arielle at his side and the scrolls rolled out before her. “If you’re quite down parading about in disguises, why don’t you tell me what this is about?” His voice was borderline scolding as he waved a hand at that assortment of documents while sinking back into his chair. The first thing he did was reach for his goblet with a frustrated sigh. Why did he get the feeling there was never going to be enough wine when Arielle was around?
 
Arielle had never been very good at holding her tongue, least of all when she had so much to say in reply to the Councillors’ rude prejudice they had no qualms in voicing. Her milky fingers threaded together, held at the space over her stomach, just beneath bust that was partially on view as the black of her shirt dipped a fraction into the valley of cleavage, as elbows pressed into either armrest. The chair wasn’t as comfortable as she’d expected, and she could think of another place she’d rather have found herself taking a seat upon, but if she wanted to play the game, Arielle knew that she needed to play it according to Hadrian’s poorly laid out rules.

As the Lord Commander questioned her worth of being a fit bride for their monarch, a copper brow arched elegantly as the ‘traitor’ watched on with particular amusement. She leaned back into the wood of the high-backed chair, crossing her long legs at the knee as she reclined. An interesting line of conversation that Arielle found herself curious to learn the answer to. Did Hadrian deem her a worthy bride in the grand scheme of things, or was this purely for political purposes that he’d soon make sure she understood quite clearly? Or did he, indeed, think that this Princess of Loria would be far more suited to warm his bed and carry his children, and that Arielle was simply in the way from establishing such a match? Perhaps she’d have to watch her head if Hadrian did wish to seek affections elsewhere, as there would be no stopping him from offing her in order to make himself an eligible widower.

The mention of her bloodline had her scowling just a fraction. Was what made her less worthy the fact that her line did not intermarry within a small pool of nobles? The arched copper brow lowered, only to come to furrow together with its twin in a deep frown of disapproval. Perhaps this place needs an injection of northern spirit, as does the Aldrich line. I wonder what they’d say to that, if I taunted them with the possibility of an air being part gypsy, let alone part northerner. As much as Arielle wanted to bite back, she didn’t. Instead, she kept quiet and her grip on her fingers simply paled her knuckles with the strain of holding her tongue. Arielle would not embarrass herself; she couldn’t have cared less about how Hadrian would feel.

Exotic.

Now that wasn’t a word that she had heard herself described as before, at least not to her face, and Arielle straightened in her chair a fraction and unclasped her hands to settle at the ends of the armrests. Arielle was, no doubt, quite amused by their bickering and insulting of her standing and bloodline and worthiness to marry into such a prestigious line, despite the fact that she was sitting right there among them at the table. It was almost as if they thought they’d have the chance of changing Hadrian’s mind. What fools. He was far too deep to back out now. Even if he did change his mind, he’d push on simply because he was already dedicated to the peace and wouldn’t have it look like he were a coward. She knew that, so why didn’t the men serving him know that too? Shouldn’t they know him more than she, as he was their sovereign that they selflessly served?

What Arielle found the most interesting were the ones that remained quiet and reserved at the table with the others shared their outburst and disapproval of the idea; not that Hadrian was seeking such a thing in the first place. The quiet ones were always the ones Arielle found her attention lingering upon, as she’d found that they were hiding thoughts they would not wish to share for a myriad of reasons. Were they considering the possibility that there would be another attempt at assassination by which they could blame it upon her and have reason to have her head without the King’s approval? Were they scheming ways to put an end to the marriage before it could even begin? Were they hoping that Arielle did off their monarch for them? Vividly coloured eyes lingered on each quiet face, memorising their lines and angles and whatever little expression that had managed to slip onto their features behind the mask of neutrality.

The Lord Commander, Master of War, wanted her head. There was absolutely no questioning it; he had that maniacal look in his eyes as he glared across the stable at her like she were prey just out of his reach. She flashed him a bright smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes that were stormy with dangerous intent. He wanted her dead and had done so for years, it came as no surprise. But would he murder his King? It seemed unlikely, considering with which fire he spoke about her needed death.

The Minister, red faced and huffing, looked as though he were the most bothered of the lot by the news. Why? Did it not fit in with his own intentions for the war? Would be rather see it continue if only to further himself? He seemed particularly concerned about the issue of watering down the Aldrich bloodline by something as tainted as her own, heaven forbid. It could be genuine concern regarding the next line of heirs, since it did seem possible that the Aldrich blood would all but disappear. He had a point, however, that a neighbouring kingdom would be able to squash her rebels to the north. But why tie a kingdom such as Eirlea to any of the neighbouring; all of which could offer no resources? Coin, perhaps, but nothing else besides that and this beautiful princess he spoke of.

Then there was the Treasurer, who kept his dark gaze upon her face with a wicked smirk that she didn’t like to say the least. There was something sinister lingering there with the way he watched her, never mind the misogynistic words he’d spewed before. How quickly he seemed to change his mind about a ‘feral thing’ and ‘rat’ to now consider it ‘ripe’. Was that evil smirk of his that reached his eyes simply because he was enjoying the view a little too much? Or was it because her presence played into his plans?

She had found very little answers, and only unearthed more questions, but there was no sense in coming to a rushed judgement. Arielle would need to watch them closer, as they scurried about like vermin in the hallways, organising deals to further their own position and standing.

Crossed knees turned slightly to Hadrian, her body following suit, as Arielle licked the seam of her lips. He hadn’t needed to speak to her in such a scolding manner, considering she’d only done just as he’d asked of her. She dismissed his tone, and what he requested, instead standing with enough abruptness that the chair scooted back a fraction and growled over the hard floor. Red curls spilled over narrow shoulders as she set her hands flat on the smooth table’s surface. The darkness that was held within her gaze only became something more abyssal and furious as she pinned the Lord Commander with a hard scowl.

“Hadrian will not find a blade between his ribs,” Arielle spoke rather smoothly, though the darkness in her eyes had found its way to dangerously taint her speech, “least of all from my kind. The goal was never to acquire the southern lands, and if you believed such a thing than you are incredibly poor at your work, Lord Commander. You should have been paying more attention, it would seem. Did you never sit a class on strategy in your youth, or did you merely forget?” Weight shifted forward onto her hands as she leaned slightly over the edge of the table, the movement ominous in itself as red tendrils of hair fell about her face. “Believe it or not, we have enjoyed this war far less than you have. We do care for peace, why else would I be here? The only thing we want, the only thing we have ever wanted this entire time, was freedom for the people. Forgive me for realising that the opportunity the King presented to me is a way to stop the bloody fighting.” Arielle gestured to the map the Master of War had ripped from the table, sending the pieces flying about the room. “You’ve been at a stalemate for quite some time now, and it takes a fool not to realise that.”

“A stalemate, hm?” The Treasurer grumbled beneath his breath, slowly rising from his chair to clasp the worn head of his walking stick as he shuffled out from his seat at the table. The room echoed with each pang of the wood upon stone, as the Treasurer meandered towards Arielle.

“Hm.” The sound itself was rather nasal, more like a grunt than a thoughtful hum, conveying far more than it ought to. The base of wooden stick, smoothed by tiles and rough ground, tapped loudly against the floor as it was placed ahead of lame foot. The steps around Arielle were shuffling and slow, but they circled her with a rather predatory nature despite the seemingly sweetness of the old man. His grey hair was flecked with alabaster white, kept as short as his shoulders and tucked behind weathered ears. Arielle ought to take a leaf out of his book, as not a single wisp fell into his face as he paced. Francis was of an old family, one with old money squirrelled away in the vaults, and he had an air about him that made most not trust the soft lines of his face and the warm browns of his eyes.

Arielle, keeping in place several feet to Hadrian’s right, didn’t dare turn in place to track the elderly council member who’d likely spout some kind of wisdom. Instead, she simply watched him from the corner of her beautifully vivid eyes, distrusting. Those eyes widened when there was a sharp prod at her behind by the wooden stick, jabbed into the supple flesh with a force that was not friendly; like a man tending to steak and testing its quality. “Do you mind?”

Francis continued with his slow pace, jabbing at the flare of her hips as he narrowed his brown eyes at her figure. “Good child birthing hips.” The smooth end of the stick poked at the back of an arm. “Enough flesh on her bones that she won’t starve.” His shuffling footsteps continued to echo about the large room as he came to stand at her side, catching the underside of her chin with his walking stick and making her face turn upwards to the light. “And yet she’s poisoned by gypsy features.” Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Francis ignored the sharp scowl he received from Arielle as he meandered slowly over to the King. “I understand that you believe you had no choice and this was the only option, but might I suggest you select a second wife to bear your heirs so they are not tainted by that girl’s blood and spirit.” Wooden stick tapped against the side of Hadrian’s boot, like one would pat a shoulder. “She may look alluring to you now, but beware, your Highness, for a snake doesn’t reveal its colours until it’s about to strike.” With shuffling steps, Francis made his way back to his seat and sank within it, smug.

To say she was offended would be a rather large understatement, as Arielle stood before the council having just been inspected as if she were breeding stock and that was all she had to offer. As if she didn’t represent a way to bring the people together and a way, albeit a little underhanded, to rise this kingdom from the debt it had been sunken into. “Believe it or not, Francis, I offer more than just a warm bed and a womb. Hadrian will not take a second wife, nor a third or fourth. He will have me and me alone because I assure you, since you seem so concerned about his personal matters, he will neither have any time for another woman, nor will he crave another. You see, your women are bland as they are boring. My gypsy features, blood and spirit, offer Hadrian something none of you can begin to imagine.” Rolling out her shoulders, running a set of knuckles under her jaw as if to brush away the lingering touch of the wooden stick, Arielle sauntered towards the man in question, coming to stand at Hadrian’s side. “Now, I would think it most polite if we move onto a subject that does not question my child bearing hips.”

A breath escaped her lips, an exasperated sigh as she straightened and rolled out her shoulders. Straightening to stand far more elegantly and poised, Arielle turned at the waist to set two of the three scrolls behind her in her seat, and began to unroll the third. The parchment was aged, a shade akin to caramel and burnt umber around the edges. This wasn’t her best finding, she’d leave that for when she had Hadrian alone.

“After I visited the jewellers,” Arielle pinned the Treasure with a glare before she moved on as she smoothed out the parchment before her and Hadrian, “I decided to take a trip to the City Library. It hasn’t changed one bit, and I found exactly what I was looking for; the ledgers kept by the Treasurer to the late King. You, Francis.” Arielle glanced at Hadrian from the corner of her eye, watching his face for a moment before she continued. It wouldn’t make any sense, not just yet, but it would in time and with more digging. She’d found enough to come to some conclusion, but not enough to say for certain. Francis, however, seemed to be growing uncomfortable in his seat. “I found the ledgers, transcribed a decade ago, the year prior to the late King’s death. Now, if you’d be as kind to explain where fourteen thousand gold coins disappeared to?”

The silver man reclined against the back of his chair, a gnarled hand moving to rest atop the worn head of the stick just to his left. Fingers tapped, almost impatiently, as he watched the red headed devil as if she were stealing precious time when he had far better things to do. Francis chortled deeply, his body seeming to shake with the chuckle, before he leaned forward and looked around at his fellow councillors. “It should come as no surprise that this kingdom was deep in debt during the time of this putrid war, never mind the fact that this country was almost bankrupt just prior to the King’s death.”

The King, Arielle noted, but not the late King.

“In order to continue to fund our troops, our kingdom required resources we were not able to produce at the time,” the Treasurer continued, speaking in facts that made perfect sense. “Such as wheat and seasonal vegetables. Our people were going hungry, never mind the soldiers on the front. How could we expect to win a war and squander the northern filth when our men were nothing but skin and bone?”

Arielle cocked an eyebrow. “You mean to say that you paid fourteen thousand gold coins for wheat, grain, and vegetables? Seems a little pricey, don’t you think?”

Francis levelled his own scowl at the woman. “I think, for someone who has never had to work for their fair share of food and has simply stolen it, you underestimate the true cost of feeding a nation. Wouldn’t you say, Your Highness?”

“So, where this document states that the fourteen thousand was shipped to a small company in Templestow, it is incorrect?” Arielle continued to question, despite seeming as though she was getting no where. She took a step closer to Hadrian, seemingly only to reach for his wine to take a long sip as she kept her gaze levelled at the Treasurer. In truth, she sought the warmth that radiated from him, this room chilling her to the bone. “I assume that we are all familiar with our geography and are aware that the town of Templestow is right on the edge between what is considered the north and the south. What I don’t presume, is that you know of said company; Keily Brothers.” The goblet was set down before Hadrian once more, though she continued to linger a fraction closer.

Francis continued to glower. “If you are making a poor attempt at proving a point, I suggest you get on with it. I’m sure that I am not the only poor soul in this room growing tired of hearing you speak.”

“Unlike the rest of you good men, I have some rather unsavoury connections throughout the country. Would it surprise any of you if I were to say that the Keily Brothers are, in fact, not farmers but mercenaries whom charge a great deal of coin for requests that come with extra risk?” Arielle shrugged her shoulder casually, keeping her eyes upon the silver man. “It doesn’t surprise me, but then I know them well. Are you suggesting that your own ledger is incorrect then, Treasurer? Are you suggesting that your ledger is forged?” She clicks her tongue. “Or is there another explanation for why so much coin was paid to brothers whom are known up north for their brutality and bloody services a year prior to the death of the late King?”

The Treasurer gripped the head of his stick tighter, gnarled knuckles paling, choosing to say nothing as he glowered across the table at Arielle. He’d sworn not to tell. He’d sworn on his life and the life of his long dead wife. They wouldn’t understand, nor would she, not that it mattered. He was growing uncomfortable under the eyes of the council, beginning to fidget with the edge of his robes before he finally growled out; “The Kingdom paid a high price for the war, as should your family. There was no loss when your mother died. Look what that gypsy whore gave birth to.” His eyes narrowed at her. “I will not stand by and watch you marry this savage, my King. Your father will be turning in his grave and I made a promise that I must keep.”

Arielle did not dare flinch as her mother was labelled something so horrid, nor at the news that her mother’s death had, in fact, been an assassination and not just a murder. As she stood before the council, at Hadrian’s side, there was absolutely no falter in her features that would suggest that her heart was aching. Instead, she simply lifted her chin and said; “Then you best be giving Hadrian your notice of leave, then, because this savage will be marrying your King in order to bring an end to this war.”

Rising from his chair, after several attempts at standing, Francis made a move towards the door with a flick of his hand over his shoulder as he dismissed her words, huffing upon his exit. The door opened and was slowly sealed closed, though the slow tap of his stick could be heard as an echo.

Arielle remained standing, in a world of her own, as she continued to stare at the door in rage as if she could see the old man’s back.
 
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So far this was proving to be less of a meeting and more of a bickering match. Hadrian expected as much, knowing full well the addition of Arielle would not be a welcome concept. How hard it must have been for them to swallow, knowing the fiend they’d been plotting against might soon hold a royal station over them. This was part of the reason Hadrian remained so lenient, holding his tongue despite the insults and goading. Best they get all that toxic nature out now rather than keep it bottled up like his Minister seemed to be doing. But he also knew Arielle was no slouch. She wielded a sharp tongue against his Master of War, clearly showing she did not need the king to defend her position. Hadrian felt a touch of empathy for the man as his competence was questioned, but who could deny the bitter sting of truth? After doing the same with Hadrian’s chosen Shield of the King he was somewhat deserving of it anyway.

Hadrian’s eyes were burning over the rim of his goblet as he took another drink of his wine, watching them all with a quiet impassiveness. The chancellor nervously ran his fingers down his impressive mustache, looking elsewhere when he felt the weight of the king’s gaze upon him. He made his displeasure over this joining known but Hadrian wondered if he really had the spine to keep arguing against it. Nothing like his Minister though. The man didn’t shy away when those seafoam eyes were on him. He wasn’t sure what held his tongue back, but he looked ready to bite it off. No doubt that eruption was coming, and for the moment Hadrian wasn’t sure what to expect when it did. Maybe he was hoping one of the others could persuade the king before he spoke his piece.

The Lord Treasurer seemed content to dry, rattling free from his chair and staggering over to Arielle, walking stick and all. Hadrian eyed the man with distaste as he circled around his bride to be, eyeing her like the bony scavenger he was. He never particularly liked the man, but scroungers like him were useful when it came to scraping up funds, and he respected his age and wisdom besides. Another man who’d been around since the days of his grandfather, possibly even before that. Just how long now have the wheels of the kingdom been greased by his slimy hands? he wondered, before his eyes narrowed at the treatment of Arielle. Had the northerner not proven so good at sticking up for herself, and had Francis not been quite so many years his senior, he might have reacted far worse to the display than he did.

But the threat was there, written in his furious eyes as while he stared the brazen man down. “You would do well to remember this woman is to be my queen,” he told Francis, his voice lined with venom even as the Treasurer gave him a friendly tap on the boot. Hadrian looked anything but friendly right now, and he had to agree that Francis probably knew all about snakes with the way he slithered around. All at once he was reminded of Arielle’s riddle; about a silver man with a serpent tongue. How easily the man before him could fit that bill. Here he was literally speaking of serpents with that sharp tongue of his, and silver could fit both his age and badge of office. Of course, he couldn’t just go about throwing accusations based on a northern spirit-dream.

“My decision is final,” he repeated himself, which every lord present knew the king did not enjoy doing. “And despite what you think, My Lord, I did not make it because I thought it was the only choice. I made this decision because I believe it is the best choice.” Arielle had plenty of her on input on the idea, and Hadrian had to smirk at her audacious remarks about why she’d be keeping him all to herself. Some of the lords shifted uncomfortably over that boast, even Lord Auden, normally a stoic man in all regards, looked away shyly from his future queen. “Well there you have it,” the king said, offering his hands up in defeat at Arielle’s retort, “My hopes of a second wife dashed forever.”

Hadrian couldn’t have agreed more when Arielle suggested they move on to other topics. He was ready to begin discussing the future of this kingdom, not spend time listening to their attempts at railroading his methods of bettering it. But first came this unexpected development, the scrolls which Arielle carefully laid out before him. Hadrian leaned closer, surveying the aged parchment with a look of interest. Just what had she managed to dig up in those short few hours? He listened as she told her tale, noting that she had in fact been at the jeweler’s shop as accused. Well that was interesting, but not nearly as interesting as what she found in the library. Why were such ledgers available for public scrutiny to begin with? No wonder his father had spent so many years fighting a lost cause. Hadrian was far more meticulous than the late king, and far more secretive, apparently.

Hadrian grew less concerned with what ledgers were doing out in the open once it came to light that Arielle had come across a discrepancy. The king shifted in his seat, glancing from her to the man she suspected. There was little room to doubt the documents were not of his own hand. He’d seen enough of Francis’ work to recognize the penmanship. And who else would have penned such things? Francis held the position of treasurer since before Hadrian was even born. Their regent’s suspicions were abound whiles he watched Francis, listening to his attempts at an excuse. The treasurer seemed as calm as could be as he sat there, reclining in his chairs with fingers drumming that old wooden walking stick Hadrian couldn’t picture him without. Needless to say, the excuse did not satisfy. Even today, long after a bitter war had driven the prices for food higher than ever, that was an exorbitant amount.

Hadrian scowled, setting aside his goblet of wine and pushing from his seat. He stepped nearer to Arielle, the better to inspect these documents and make sure what she was saying was correct. The rest of the council was growing very tense, each of them catching on to the seed that was sprouting here. Hadrian leered at the evidence, hands balling until his knuckles pressed into the smooth wood of the table. His attention flicked back to Francis as he tried to dismiss Arielle’s knowledge of these things and usher in Hadrian’s support. “I think,” he began in reply, eyes shifting back to the sketchy ledgers, “We’re lucky you didn’t add any fruit to the list, or our coffers might be worse off than they are now…” A sharp look was passed at his intended as she came to poach his wine. Leave it to her to bemuse him even at a time like this. How could be chastise her when he’d stolen her cup last night? The affection was not lost on his council either, least of all Lord Auden, who looked away from the couple with a knowing smile.

He reserved judgement on Francis for the moment, letting Arielle unfurl all she knew about this before he decided what to do next. But things weren’t looking too good for his Treasurer right now. The math added up, the golden clearly signed over to these mercenaries if that was truly what these Keily Brothers were. Hadrian never heard of them himself, but he had no reason to doubt what Arielle was saying. Just last night they spoke of her less than savory connections in the north. And if her expertise on the region wasn’t enough, Francis’ reaction to the accusations had plenty to say. The old man looked ready to burst with anger. Everything was written in that glower, and every man present was aware. All eyes were on him until.

“Well?” Hadrian demanded over the hesitation, glowering right back at his treasurer. “Care to tell me why you paid a band of killers with my family’s money?”

Hadrian was struck by the man’s outburst, feeling winded over the revelation of these parlous facts. He didn’t even know how to respond once her mother was brought up. Hadrian passed a look at Arielle then, finding her disposition rather stoic given what was just spat in face. Hadrian had some few memories of Arielle’s mother; more so recollections of her being there, in the castle with her father a number of times. Their fathers fell out before her death, Arielle pulled away from his life before any of that came to pass. He didn’t have all the facts to put together exactly how she died, but the Treasurer’s words gave no small hint that he might be implicated in at least some way. It grieved him to know that the crown might bear responsibility for yet another tragedy against their own people.

On any other occasion he might have reprimanded the way Arielle so easily dismissed a member of his council, but on this, they were of one mind. If these things were true, the man no longer had a place in his circle whether he would accept their marriage or not. “Lord Francis you are relieved from your position on this council,” he told the man even before he began to struggle from his seat. “Get out.” No one breathed a sound, making the treasurer’s awkward exit all the more palpable as he struggled to his feet and limped his way to the doors. Only once he was gone, the rap of his cane inaudible, did the room seem to get a little air back. Not much, though, for his Minister looked hotter than ever after seeing Arielle dismiss Lord Jenkin so casually, and the King allowing it.

Lord Auden was the first to break the ice, clearing his throat as though to clear the air itself. “Well, forgive all that unpleasantness my dear,” he said to Arielle. “I for one would like to congratulate you. The two of you have my blessings, at the least.”
“You didn’t seem none too surprised about it, either,” The minister finally grumbled, seething attention turned on Auden. “Probably whispered it into his ear no less. What’s it matter to a man like you if the king marries some bastard-blooded gypsy witch?”

“Watch your tongue, Lord Mandon,” Hadrian warned him. And that was all it took for the explosion to unleash.

“Or what?!” His minister boomed, shooting up with such a force that his chair fell right over. “You’ll remove me from the council like that man out there!” He furiously pointed towards the door, long, braided beard swinging as he indicated the direction Francis had gone.

“If not your head,” Hadrian smoothly warned him.

“That man sat this council since before you were born, boy! Without him to help your father and your father’s father before him you might not even have a throne left to warm your spoiled arse! I’ve sat by and watched as you made lords from servants and bodyguards out of degenerates!” His vicious brown eyes flashed between Auden and Caius respectively, before landing on Arielle with the greatest fury of all. “But I’ll not stand by and hold my tongue while you make a queen out of a traitorous rebel. My oldest son and youngest brother both died fighting this war! Fighting for you and your father! And now you would piss on their sacrifice for a pretty face and a wet cunt!”

He spat in Arielle’s direction before turning his attention back to the king. Hadrian was looking as angry as his minister at this point, infuriated by this blatant disrespect. It was growing all the more difficult to keep his temper in check. He stepped away from his seat, stepping up to Lord Mandon, who stood his ground, showing no sign of fear.

“There stands one as guilty for their deaths as anyone could imagine!” The minister announced, pointing squarely at Arielle while glaring right at Hadrian. “And you would give her a crown just to warm your bed. How can I serve as the Justice for a king that doesn’t even know what that word means.”

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” Hadrian growled through grit teeth, his eyes a raging green fire beneath his curtain of ebony hair. “You are speaking to your king.”

“Aye,” Lord Mandon scoffed, wearing an un-amused smile. “For now. Until she’s got her mouth around your cock and serving her every whim. You’re not even half the king your father was.”

It was the last thing he said before Hadrian struck, swinging his right fist with so quick and powerful that Lord Mandon barely registered he’d been slugged in the jaw until he collapsed, falling against the table before spilling to the floor, dazed and groaning. The man had a jaw like iron, sending an explosion of pain across Hadrian’s knuckles and splitting two of them open. But if the pain bothered him, he seemed to show no sign of it. His attention was focused solely on Lord Mandon sprawled on the floor and trying to regain his senses.

“Be thankful I am not my father,” Hadrian told the man. “He would have had your head for those insults. I am happy enough with your resignation from this council. Go. Ride back to your keep, My Lord, before I decide there’s a little of my father in me after all.”

The lord had found his footing by now, thanks in no small part to the table he used to pull himself back up. His lip was split and bleeding freely, his face already forming a bruise that would look worse than Hadrian’s knuckles in the end. He looked as angry as he did defeated. One threatening step towards the sovereign and Caius was on his feet, the scraping of his heavy chair enough to stop the Ex-Minister of Justice in his tracks and reconsider his next move. Grunting, he inevitably stormed his way out, slamming the doors shut behind him for good measure.

“Any other princesses you’d like to suggest while we’re still taking resignations?” he snapped at his Chancellor. The man swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good,” Hadrian breathed, turning his back on the circle of men. “Then get out, all of you.”

None of them dared test that tone in his voice, all of them shuffling up to follow behind the lords who would not be joining for their next gathering. And what a waste this one had been, achieving nothing more than the announcement of his marriage and the loss of a few key members. His attentions turned briefly on the woman responsible for that, his look quite clearly telling her to stay put while the other members vacated the chamber. But not a word was spoken until they were alone, Hadrian refusing to meet the eye of any of them. He adjusted the sleeves on his shirt, rolling them up a bit higher on his wrists to distract himself until they were gone.

“You’ve been here one night and I’ve lost three council members already,” he complained once they were alone, sounding a bit sour. He sighed heavily before returning to her side, looking from her, to the documents on the table, to finally the chalice of wine. He went for that first, and wasted no time in draining all of it. A good buzz was exactly what he needed after this fucking mess, and it would help to dull the throbbing in his hand as well. Once the goblet was bone dry, he handed it back to Arielle, giving her a sly look. “You took the job, didn’t you?” His head nodded towards the jug of spirits she brought along with her disguise. “I seem to have run out of wine, cupbearer.”

While she saw to that, Hadrian sunk back into his chair with a weary sigh. He inspected the damage to his hand, steadily flexing the muscles and paying no mind to the sting of pain. His fingers were already a little bruised and swollen, but it was worth it to silence that miserable fool. Another sigh, and Hadrian lowered his hand and looked back to the bounty Arielle brought for the library. “How in the bloody hells did you even find these?” He marveled, more impressed with the fact she’d dug up such old documents in that sea of books more than how she’d actually done it.

“And just what was that stunt earlier?” he continued his grumblings. “Dressing up like a servant girl isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I told you to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. I meant sit and observe, not play us all for the fool.” He snatched the wine when she finally returned, though his bitter words did not quite fit in with that deviant look he gave her. “Very impressive, none the less.” He took another long swig, trying to relax as the wine warmed his innards. He handed the cup back to her, figuring she could use the wine just as much as him at this point. While she partook, he fetched one of pages she’d brought along to reveal the treasurer’s scheming.

“Why do I get the feeling there’s a lot more to this Francis thing than at first glance?” he wondered. “Is this all you’ve dug up?” There was a very big decision on the horizon. If Lord Francis truly was guilty of some form of treachery his removal of the council would not be enough. But bringing justice to such a powerful man was no small matter. This would require thorough investigation and undeniable proof. If the man was in the habit of hiring paid killers who knew if it stopped here? Maybe the answers to what he wanted to know most of all lied at the end of the trail Arielle just picked up.
 
It was clear to all who paid attention that Arielle’s mind wasn’t in the present, her eyes, instead, still staring at the closed doors as if she could still see the man whom had confessed to having a hand in her mother’s murder. Her chest was heavy, her heart having sunken into her gut, her eyes void of that spark. All until Lord Auden broke the silence and spoke the most amicably, earning a small, though rather warm smile from the young woman as she turned back to face the table. “Thank you,” she nodded once, the smile itself not quite reaching her eyes but warm nonetheless; a glimpse into the gentle soul that did exist in the depths of the rebel. “Though I will be frank and say that I do prefer it when people just speak their minds rather than playing mind games and nonsense. It’s so much easier to clear the air, don’t you think?”

As if right on cue, the man further down the table who had been holding his tongue began to burst at the seams, his face reddened with contained fury as he called her a bastard-blooded gypsy witch. Arielle’s face lowered, but it was not out of offence or hurt, rather amusement as she laughed lightly beneath her breath. The red faced minister had absolutely no concept of what it was to be born of the north, nor the fact that to be considered a witch was highly commended. Red curls fell about her face, hiding her features from view as her shoulders shook a little with musical laughter that no doubt spurred the man on. How could she help herself, it was the perfect proof of what she’d just said?

“Lord Mandon, if I may....” Arielle began but was cut off by the loud grumblings that were to ensure between Hadrian and his minister. “Francis was....Lord Mandon, I’m trying to....can you please just....?” The pair of them snarled over the top of her, despite her sudden shift of heart and wish for diplomacy, something she knew she was not known for. Her words went ignored and Arielle decided to swipe at Hadrian’s wine while she had the chance and take a long sip as she watched the room fill with a haze of testosterone. If they wouldn’t listen, then she’d leave them to it, nothing wrong with ending a quarrel with fists. Even the spit at her direction wasn’t enough to shake her, Arielle simply watching the Minister with keen eyes as she tried again. “Lord Mandon, I’m sorry for what the war has taken from you but—” Again, her words fell on deaf ears, Arielle tossing her hands up in the air, seemingly exasperated with trying.

But as the Minister’s words became more crass and he began throwing insults at his King, Arielle moved from her trap between chair and table, pacing slowly to stand just behind Hadrian. A hand slipped over his shoulder, squeezing at the muscle as she warned in a light tone; “Hadrian...” She’d resulted to violence as punishment for blatant disrespect on many occasion. Arielle wasn’t proud of it, but she’d ordered a cock or two to be cut from groin when a man took it upon himself to rape a young girl. Lashings had been dealt for those who decided to illicit more battles to begin. But Arielle was made of the north, where violence came hand in hand with order and punishment. Hadrian was not cut from the same cloth, but instead was a master of politics and word play. He was bristling like a beast, ready to strike with the rage that was beginning to boil visibly beneath the surface. Lord Mandon was egging him on, taunting the King to snap, but Arielle didn’t wish to see Hadrian live to regret a violent impulse. Instead, she tugged at his shoulder, trying to turn him as she pleaded a little more softly; “Hadrian.....”

For a man so stoic and seemingly calm, Hadrian struck with more force than Arielle had anticipated. The weathered flesh of Lord Mandon’s face rippled with the impact, his jaw slugged sideways and almost out of its socket. A red welt already stained the man’s face as he shot into the table and collapsed to the floor. The hand that had come to squeeze at Hadrian’s shoulder fell away, her touch seemingly pointless and worthless. Bi-coloured eyes watched as the Minister slowly rose to his feet and took his leave at Hadrian’s request. The King moved about her as if she was not there, and Arielle remained in place even as the room quickly emptied.

Her back was to him, her head bowed a fraction as she considered her involvement and how she’d stirred the pot quite terribly. “I’m sorry,” Arielle admitted earnestly and rather suddenly, slow to turn to face him but remaining a while away. “I had no intention of creating such a storm, I only came with the intention to expose the Treasurer after what I found. I suppose, with all things considered, I should have expected any other reaction to the announcement.”

Arielle uncharacteristically said nothing to his snide comment, instead filling his goblet with wine and setting it down before him. The jug was set before him also, a clear sign that should be require more that he should see to it himself, as Arielle crossed arms beneath her breasts and leaned against the edge of the table just to his right.

“I’ll assume that most of those questions are rhetoric,” she said rather flatly. A finger hooked beneath his chin, inviting Hadrian to tilt his face so she could look upon his features. “Congratulations,” she smirked, glancing down at the split and bruised knuckles. “That’s considered a mark to be proud of amongst my people. I could tend to it should you wish it....” the finger dropped from beneath his chin, instead moving to circle the wrist of his injured hand to bring it up towards her face. “But then it won’t scar as beautifully.” Blue and green eyes grew stormy, as she peered down at him from over his bruised knuckles, the warmth of her breath tickling the back of his hand. The soft tiers of her lips pressed against the uninjured, lingering a little while before she allowed his hand to drop away and fall into her lap.

“That was all that I could find, today at least,” Arielle answered finally, looking over her shoulder at the scrolls she brought with her. “There’s a lot kept within that library that, perhaps, shouldn’t be. I seem to be of little use around this place other than culling your council, so perhaps before we leave for the tour up north that we’re yet to discuss, I can spend some time in the library and collect the documents that should be kept from public viewing.” If she was to be married to the Crown, then she, at least, needed to try her hand at protecting its image.

“Hadrian,” Arielle spoke quietly, her tone laced with concern. “Lord Mandon....what he said was horrible, I know, especially when he drew comparison between you and your father. He stepped out of line, and I see no wrong in how he was punished, but....there isn’t anything wrong with having someone on the council with an opposing opinion. He might not have expressed it in a very eloquent way, in fact I’d go as far to say that he was a real prick about it, but perhaps he needs some time to cool down and think about what this....deal can offer the kingdom.” A deal, not a marriage, she wasn’t sure that Hadrian would ever come to consider it such a thing after the way he so callously expelled her from his chambers earlier that morning. “You gave me three days to consider, albeit I only took one, but perhaps the Minister needs just as much time for him to come to an understanding......”

Silence fell between them, Arielle growing quiet in the bitterness that ebbed from Hadrian as he leaned into the back of his chair. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she searched his face for the truth as she murmured; “Are you alright?”
 
“It’s no fault of yours,” Hadrian assured Arielle over her apology. “It was no secret this news would stir the hornet’s nest.” Even so, he grumbled, shifting about in his chair as if he just couldn’t get comfortable after that altercation. No doubt she exacerbated the situation what with her display of subterfuge and bold claims. But, while blown out of proportion, he was the one who told her to see yet remain unseen. And Hadrian could scarcely blame her for firing back at the men who jeered her. Just thinking of the exchange had him flustered, even though he knew what to expect. Lucky thing Arielle set the container of wine before him, for his goblet was soon again drained, and another hastily poured. Before he could even lift it to his lips, he was interrupted by Arielle’s finger, the soft gesture coaxing him to look up and meet her blue-green eyes.

He followed those bi-colored eyes, glancing down at his tarnished knuckles. They still complained, feeling stiff and swollen, but the throbbing pain was already dying down. He laughed quietly, no more than a breath through his nose, when she lifted his hand and offered to tend to the injury. Arielle wasn’t even his wife yet and already she looked to coddle him. “It’s little more than a scratch,” he told her, “I think I’ll live. It’s hardly the first time I’ve punched a man out. Though, admittedly that one’s jaw was nearly as hard as his head.” Soft lips pressed into his hand, and feeling that touch he was reminded of everything that took place between them earlier, and how close he came to giving into her. He fell quiet as he met her gaze, enthralled by that stormy look in her eye from across his battered hand. He considered how easy it would be to lose himself in her once again, yet the moment passed, his hand falling to her lap as discussion shifted to the more serious issues plaguing them.

Hadrian drew his hand back after a moment, returning from the cup of wine she had distracted him from. He nodded his head at her suggestion before lifting the goblet to his lips and savoring a taste. He reclined further in his chair after, fingers idly tapping against the goblet which he held in both hands while he appraised her. “Good,” he declared, “I’d like to see what else you can find. If you dig up any sensitive information at all, I want to know about it.” His mind was still reeling after the last bit of info she brought him, to the point that once again the chalice was lifted up, a long swallow taken. Hadrian was filled with warmth as it trickled down his gullet, soothing his nerves a little with every sip.

”The tour…” he murmured, knowing full well the sooner they had that discussion the better. Yet he could find no words, no will for planning and discussing. Truth be told he wasn’t even certain it was a good idea anymore. He’d just lost three council members, leaving his ruling hand a broken mess. How, in good conscience, could he leave his seat of power to roam about the kingdom with things in such disarray? Arielle must have been thinking along the same lines, as to his surprise, she began to argue a case for Lord Mandon. Hadrian’s face soured over the very mention of the man, though he held his tongue, using another drink of wine as an excuse to silence himself while she spoke. He gave her words due consideration, though the longer she went on the more impatient he grew with the subject. Before he even knew it he was on his feet, wine in his hand as he shortly paced about.

“Differing opinion or not, the man disrespected me. He disrespected you.” He explained, voice yet keeping its edge while he spoke of the minister. “This is the same man who demanded you bow before your king but two nights prior. I do not tolerate hypocrites.” Still, she was speaking sense, and perhaps he would also be a hypocrite if he claimed to desire peace, yet made no effort to bring it about. “However…” he started to say, chewing the inside of a cheek even as he chewed over his words, “I’ve seen how grief can twist a man… How it can rob him of his senses, cloud his judgement and lead him to making poor choices. And Lord Mandon is a man with no lack of grief.”

Hadrian gave a weary sigh, somehow finding himself with an empty cup yet again. And yet again he strode to the table, promptly remedying that problem. “This bitter war clings like a vine,” he lamented over the glug of liquid filling his chalice, nearly to the brim. “We’ve spent so long fighting each other that many will find it difficult to imagine ever laying down their swords. Perhaps it is as you say… It needs time to settle. Once he’s had that time, I will speak with Lord Mandon again. If he’s learned a bit of courtesy by then… Maybe I will reverse my decision.” But that was a pretty big maybe given the man's blatant lack of respect for his sovereign.

Brooding silence fell between them as Hadrian retreated to his thoughts. His mood was absolutely foul at this point. All the banter and frustration Arielle caused intermingled with the reaction to his announcement. He always knew this path wouldn’t be easy, but it was hard to see the good that would come out of this when things were falling apart because of it. It discomfited him to no end by the time he was on his fourth cup of wine, still worrying over the future of his kingdom. No one could possibly understand the pressure put upon his shoulders; of being the sole heir to a family name known to near everyone on the continent. What a mess had become of the mighty empire they used to be, and now Hadrian was the only one left to clean up after it. He found himself wallowing in that reality as he meandered over a window overlooking the gardens. After the long winter the flora was looking as drab and grey as he felt. It was nothing like that botanical wonder his mother tended after when she was still alive. It seemed much of the color had drained from this ancient home since then, its luster fading since the day she died. Arielle’s question seemed to fall on deaf ears as Hadrian lost himself in her memory, but after a lingering moment he turned to face her. He took another pause for a drink of his cup before he replied.

“I’m fine,” Hadrian told her, voice stark and devoid of any of the emotions he was actually feeling. “A little wound up perhaps,” he admitted, with an exasperated breath, “But fine none the less.” Another long sip and Hadrian was starting to feel the effects of the wine. It was like some of the tension had come out with that breath, a mild but warm tingle creeping through his veins. Even the sting in his hand was all but forgotten. His eyes had grown a little softer as well, and he considered Arielle from the distance. “What about you?” He asked in kind. “That thing Lord Francis said about your mother…” It felt strange thinking about it after being so wrapped up in thoughts of his own. “Should we talk about that?” He knew her mother had died some time ago, but he wasn’t certain of the when and how of the matter. He was smart enough to pick up the implications of what his Treasurer said, but Hadrian didn’t like to jump to conclusions. There would be no putting it together until he had all the pieces.
 
“Be mad at him then, Hadrian,” Arielle warned smoothly, though her voice was edged with something easily likened to amusement, “for his disrespect of you, but let that be it. I’ve been called a great deal more and a great deal worse than a ‘bastard-blooded gypsy witch’. His attempt at causing me offence was poor, at best; a little pathetic, in all honesty. My own men can come up with some real beauties when I tread on their precious egos. Perhaps that’s something that is needed around this place....” Arielle smirked, taking a quick sip of wine from the jug as she held and tilted it upwards towards face between both of her palms. A sigh escaped her stained lips as she set the ceramic jug down atop the table and wiped her mouth on the back of milky hand before she continued. “....some better insults and fouler language. Both of which I’d be happy to provide.”

The years she had spent surrounded by men, the lowest of the low in some cases, had expanded her vocabulary seven fold and given her the gift of insult. She mused at the thought of teaching the Council some right royal horrid things to say, only to sit back and laugh in a corner as they swore amidst banter. Her smile was smug as she continued to lean against the table and watch as Hadrian rose from his chair to pace. Copper brow rose elegantly as she noted his need for refill so soon, Hadrian seeming to swallow his wine as if it were the Elixir of Life. Arielle didn’t dare question it, however, simply watching him with a look upon her face that bordered concern. Was he intentionally drinking himself into a stupor in order to put the day behind him and in order to promise a peaceful sleep? Or was he simply so consumed by the rage he denied that he didn’t care?

I’m fine, he promised. But when was such a thing true when it was said with such a delay? Hadrian appeared calm and well, but Arielle thought, even for the most smallest of seconds, that she had seen a flicker of anger within the sea foam of his eyes and that alone was indicative of his lie. He wore that mask so well that Arielle doubted he would ever be comfortable taking it off and being honest. But was she fine?

Arielle was far less skilled at hiding what grief had settled upon her chest, despite her effort to brush it aside. It would make her a hypocrite, no doubt, if she wished for his honesty but then did not give him her own. Hadrian was yet to trust her, something that was entirely rationale given their recent past, and Arielle felt foolish for wanting to fall back into the childish friendship they had all those many years ago.

“I’m fine,” she said flatly, mimicking his words for no reason other than lack of ability to find others. Hands twisted together in her lap. Eyes diverted away from his face for the first time in a little while. Red hair fell into her face in loose curls and wisps. Everything about her posture suggested otherwise but Arielle didn’t dare admit it. Instead, she plastered a sure smile upon her face; one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, for your offer to talk it through, but I’m not bothered.” I’m not bothered. I’m nearly breaking. “I can see that the recent happenings have wound you up into a state and I seem only able to frustrate you further on almost all occasions.” And I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep a straight face for any longer and I can’t let you see me like this. “If you’ll excuse me, Hadrian, I would like to find you later for tea, perhaps, but I’ll take my leave and allow you some space.”

Arielle met his eyes, the look within her own dull, as she shifted away from the table and licked her lips free from a droplet of wine that had settled at the seam. With a curt nod and a small smile, she moved towards the door, being sure to slowly close it behind her.

The moment the clasp caught on the door, she broke. Hands were still wrapped around the handles at the small of her back, between dimples at the base of her spine as she leaned into the doors for support. Chin tilted upwards, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she grit her teeth in order to stave off the tears that were beginning to brew. She couldn’t break in front of Hadrian. She couldn’t let him see her like this; weak and pathetic and vulnerable. This was not the Arielle that the world knew, it was not an Arielle that anyone knew, and it was not an Arielle that she would reveal to Hadrian just yet. A sob caught in her throat, a soft whimper escaping her before Arielle pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath.

“Get it together.”

The redhead was quick to leave the throne room with a smile plastered upon her face; but if anyone looked closer, they’d noticed the red rim to her eyes.

Arielle would find herself within the confines of the quarters Hadrian had designated as hers, seemingly strict about sharing anything other than wine and words. The fabric of the winged chair welcomed her as she settled within it, folding legs beneath her as she stripped down to just an oversized shirt she’d stolen from the launders earlier that afternoon upon her creeping. The fire was coaxed to life by soft breath and scrunched parchment for kindling, and was now raging and licking at the air of the room to heat it. A soft blush settled upon her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the warmth of the flames, Arielle pressing her elbow into an armrest and a hand into her temple to prop up her head. She wasn’t sure if she’d make it to dinner like she’d suggested, having lost her appetite swiftly at the mention of foul play and her mother.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone down that path. Maybe I would have been better off if I remained oblivious and ignorant. I shouldn’t have gone digging. I shouldn’t have tried to impress Hadrian. Look where it got me...sulking in front of a fire.

“Fuck.....” she hissed through grit teeth as she combed a hand roughly through copper hair, revelling in the pain as fingers were caught in knots and tugged harshly. Maybe Arielle shouldn’t have done a lot of things, perhaps the war should have died with her father and his. Perhaps she’d have been better off hidden away up north within kin and family and people who really understood who she was.

Perhaps a lot of damn things, but none of it matters. It’s all hypothetical. It’s all an illusion. There’s absolutely no point in getting caught up in what could have or should have been. It’s done and cannot be undone. That’s how life works.

Eyes closed and Arielle released a huff of a breath through her nose as she jerked and tossed her head back angrily into the high back of the chair. She’d spiralled downwards into a pit of deep contemplation and grief. It seemed that both she and her mother had been tarnished by the same bigoted brush. Was it women from up north they hated the most, when they ventured down from the snow fields and jagged mountains in an attempt to integrate or see the rest of their world? Was it so bad that Arielle was born of both? It certainly seemed that way; her blood and birth had come into question and had been at the centre of more insults here than ever before. But perhaps that was because her people need not steep as low to insult another’s heritage in order to cause offence. Perhaps that was because, up north, they didn’t care about bastard-born witches.

The fire crackled ominously as Arielle held her head in her hand, leaning into the armrest with most of her weight as she grew uncomfortable in her grief. It had been years since she’d felt something such as this, and she’d spent a night by a fire just the same wallowing in tears and self-pity. Arielle was a changed woman, and she was not the kind to weep before a fire, as became evident an hour later.

Rough gravel crunched underfoot, beneath boots as the scuffled and slid and stamped. The sound of metal striking metal echoed throughout the courtyard, carried on the eastern sea breeze. Oversized undershirt had been traded for granite grey riding pants with matching fitted shirt, a turquoise tunic donned with a thick leather belt cinched at the waist. Red hair was tied up with a strip of leather, copper curls pulled away from her face. Cheeks were blushed a shade of rose, but Arielle was far from a stereotypical beauty as she struck the man three feet away from her with a spiral of footwork and the flat side of her blade. She’d copped an elbow to the face, the plump of her lower lip split and bleeding, already painted a hue of violet in bruise. Blood trickled and dried a thin sliver on her chin, only adding to the fierce look in her bi-coloured eyes. Wisps of red hair curled about her forehead, stuck to milky skin with perspiration as she ducked beneath a swing of a sword.

The man who opposed her towered over her by at least four feet, his left arm tucked regally at the small of his back as if he were handicapping her to allow his opponent a chance. His grip on the long sword was tight as it was keen as he struck at Arielle without a second thought. Dark hair, streaked with silver remained perfectly in place, only a lock falling onto his forehead. Despite how calm he seemed, and how he moved as if this were a dance, a sheen of perspiration lined the stubble of his upper lip. Morteus was dressed fashionably considering how deep they seemed into this dual; his trousers dark and jacket a deep mahogany with various dull buckles. His breaths were shallow and short, yet the man seemed to appear as if this were easy.

Swords clashed, Arielle’s own far thinner than her opponent’s long sword but far more nimble. She side-stepped, spun and ducked, using short height and lithe legs to her advantage as she wove no apparent pattern around Morteus, their blades always connecting save for the occasional tap she delivered to his chest or shoulder.

“Hit me,” she snarled, circling the aged man as she swiped her hand over bleeding lip, only smearing the crimson across her jaw. Her face stung, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There was so much rage, so much pain, built up inside her chest that it burst from within her in violent fury.

Morteus was no man to go easy, not even on the young woman who lead the band of rebels that he had found himself aligned to. He supposed that, considering they had found him conspiring with her at that table now coated in spilt wine, that the secrecy of his alliance was over. He’d never truly been a gentleman, he’d forgone his lordly status long ago when he brought shame upon his family; war could change a man like that. So, he did exactly as she ordered. Weight tilted backwards, shifted to one foot, sword swung down to his side as Morteus took a lean. The sole of his boot connected with the centre of Arielle’s chest, sending her sprawling into the gravel. She didn’t cry out, she didn’t hiss, she didn’t even swear. It left him standing in the centre of the courtyard, looking upon the fire-haired rebel, wondering what had gotten into her as she laughed darkly before kicking herself up off the ground and into a squat.

Weathered hands were held out at his sides, the sword still firm in his grip, as Morteus frowned; “I won. This game is done.”

“It’s not done until I say it is.” Arielle launched herself at Morteus in a flurry of strikes with her needle-like sword, striking against the metal of his far thicker blade before she slashed at the air just inches from his gut. Morteus had found himself on the sharp end of her sword on many occasions when the rebel leader became so enraged only violence could allow her release. It didn’t bother him in the slightest, he considered it the perfect opportunity to hone his skills and knock her down a peg or two should he be successful and have her at a stalemate. But her rage was fed by something else today; it wasn’t the same as it always had been, fuelled by a wrong decision, a loss in battle or general frustration with the men. It was fuelled by something that darkened her eyes. Grief.

He met her lunges and strikes with his own, easily able to deflect them no matter how quickly she assaulted him. Morteus was, however, a man at the beginning of his senior years and hadn’t fought for so long. He was beginning to tire. The rage-fuelled Arielle knew this, continuing to weave circles about him in the gravel as she threw strikes at him from all angles. He’d tire soon, and then she’d have him. Or she could have him now.

Her footwork was quick, kicking up gravel in her wake as she rushed at him, leaping into the air. Sword was held away as knees struck between shoulder blades, sinking Morteus to the ground beneath her as she landed atop him with knees in his back. Long sword skittered sideways as he tried to roll beneath her slight weight, almost able to fling her from atop him. Arielle, this evening, was relentless; gathering the collar of his jacket in one hand and slamming his shoulders back down as she sat atop his chest, the sharp point of her sword brought to tap the underside of his jaw.

The sun had dipped towards horizon, the sky painted in colours of brilliant blue, soft lilac and rose pink as the orb of light grew a shade of bronze orange. Arielle was backlit as she remained crouched in his chest, wisps of hair coming loose about her face as her breaths heaved her whole body and she remained still. Her features were cast in shadow, despite the flame of her hair illuminated a brilliant, glowing copper.

Arielle huffed, tilting sideways as she rose to stand and moved over to the fallen long sword. It was plucked from the gravel and tossed to him, the redhead wiping the perspiration from her forehead as she called to him; “Again.”
 
Even with the sour atmosphere, Hadrian cracked a smile, slight as it was, at Arielle’s proclamations. “Yes, I know this all too well from the missives I’ve received from the North. From before that even, back when they were addressed to my father. He spent no few nights ranting about the colorful phrases you northerners used to describe him. I can understand why after finding myself on the receiving end.” Hadrian had little doubt she would liven up the place as offered. Somehow he felt this would just be the first of many arguments they would take party to in this council room. Now that Arielle was in the mix, the interests of his men would be askew, and conflicts would likely only grow more heated like the one today. If that was to be the case, then perhaps in the next event it would serve to keep mindful of his temper instead of striking down a lord for speaking out of turn. Still, it felt good watching that pompous fool hit the floor. The pained look of surprise as he went down gave Hadrian a touch of satisfaction that could soothe the bruised knuckles he earned.

All jokes of creative slang aside, Hadrian knew perfectly well that Arielle was anything but fine. One look at her on the floor this morning was enough to discern that she was troubled, and now her raw emotions rendered her an even easier book to read. But he didn’t dispute her attempt at brushing him off; how could he? He was no more willing to speak of what troubled him; not of his plaguing self doubts, or the disappointment over the way he handled things with Lord Mandon. Least of all could he bring himself to explain the anger that welled up inside of him after such encounters... That dangerous, hot-blooded fury, seemingly passed down from his father, that often whispered he should be more like the man before him. Diplomacy had been like a crumbling cliff beneath his feet so far. While he struggled to keep his ground, he couldn’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just hold it all together with an iron fist. He did his best to ignore such thoughts, sharing them with no one, but as peace became ever more complicated to achieve, so too did the argument grow louder in his mind.

But for now, anger began to subside, intruded upon by a touch of unease over Arielle’s obvious grief. It was strange to think how he could be so confused by her intentions yet feel like he could read her with a glance. It left him feeling mixed up and uncertain, even guilty as she plastered that fake smile on her face and tried to keep herself together. But Hadrian could see the pain in her glossy eyes, shimmering with the tears she refused to give into. Not bothered? Even without her posture he would have found that hard to believe; he knew better than anyone what sort of thoughts and emotions losing a parent could stir up. He thought of saying as much, but couldn’t bring himself to press her. It was an awkward thing, finding yourself unable to speak to the woman you were supposed to be marrying, and that’s exactly where Hadrian found himself, letting her pass off the charade like everything was fine without dispute. It didn’t bode well for their future if they couldn’t bring themselves to have at least one serious, honest conversation with each other.

It was hard to tell from the silent acceptance of her deflection, and it certainly wasn’t written on his face, but seeing her look so vulnerable and obviously denying how she felt was like taking a knife to his gut.Not to mention the declaration that all she was capable of doing was vexing him further. For the first time Hadrian thought he might have played his cards a little too well. The heated chemistry that momentarily erupted in that bedroom between them was too real to deny, but so was that mask of disinterest he managed to slip on before he got her out of any of her clothes. He intended for it to throw her off center, but perhaps it threw her a little too far off. There was a resistance there between them now, an uncertainty that kept either of them from voicing what their true thoughts. Hadrian considered clearing the air by fessing up that it hadn’t all been a ruse, that he really was enjoying himself before kicking her out of his chambers, and even took great amusement at the way she’d fooled them all in her disguise. But on top of his conflicted feelings there was also his pride, and that could be a fickle beast.

So instead of acting on his desire to comfort her, Hadrian merely nodded while she excused herself, showing no signs of the grapple of indecision that consumed him as he brushed away a lock of raven hair from his luminous eyes. “As you will,” he agreed, nodding once more over meeting for tea. “Perhaps I’ll see you then.”

The king stood rooted to the spot as Arielle pushed off the table, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment before shying away from that dull look in her eyes. He lifted the chalice of wine to his lips, though hesitated while she passed, silently biting down on his lip instead; the better to keep himself from calling out for her to stay. He kept his tongue, but suffered a pang of regret once the door closed behind her and he was left utterly alone in the empty council chambers. The goblet remained hovering near his lips, the awkward exit lingering heavily over him as he reflected on the moment. Soon enough however, it was down the hatch, Hadrian immediately putting the whole incident behind him with the swift draining of his wine. As the last of the potent drink warmed his gullet, Hadrian sighed through his nose and strode back to the table. He set down the empty cup and went about cleaning up the mess left in the council’s wake. The chair knocked over in Lord Mandon’s fury was propped back up and returned to its rightful place and all the pawns strewn about from the Lord Commander’s fluster collected and stowed away.

Hadrian was gathering up Arielle’s throwaway disguise from the floor when he noticed the documents from the library still out in the open on the table. He dropped the bundle of clothes off in her seat at the table before dropping back into his own and sliding the ledgers over to read through them properly. He reached for the vessel of wine even as his eyes read through the first lines on paper, absentmindedly pouring himself another cup. He read every scrap of info she presented, acquainting himself with all the details of his Lord Treasurer’s apparent fraud. There was no denying facts, but just like with Arielle he found himself wrestling with incertitude over Lord Francis. Based on the exchange at the table and subsequent reaction of his fiance’, everything suggested Francis played a hand in the death of Arielle’s mother. But why? What could the motivation possibly be? If not with the Treasurer himself, the answer most likely resided with these thugs; these Keily brothers.

Hadrian glowered as he read the name, disgusted over the idea that this ‘company’ had truly been a band of mercenaries all along. Already he was considering having every document searched; every transaction scoured to see if any other dealings had been made with such cut throats. Still he could not find a reason Lord Francis would orchestrate such a thing. What was there to gain from this bloodshed? In truth, this smelled more of his father’s work. It wasn’t a stretch to believe Leander told his Treasurer to orchestrate such a thing. What better way to wrack pain upon his old friend turned enemy than by making him a widower? Leander would have had no problem taking that bitter loss he knew so well, and driving it like a sword right through the heart of Arielle’s father. In fact, Hadrian’s father would have loved nothing more than to share that pain with his old friend.

Hadrian was immersed in that thought when the doors to the council chamber flew open, bringing him to look up from the ledgers and see his Shield crossing the threshold. Caius came to a standstill, eyes shifting from the king to the half empty cup of wine in his hand. “Planning to sit on your ass drinking all day?” he commented, sounding gruff as ever.

“I’m considering it,” Hadrian admitted, turning his attention back to the documents spread out before him. A day to himself to forget everything on his plate and cut loose was just what the doctor ordered. After watching his council fall apart the temptation was quickly winning him over. What did it matter if one more government official quit the table for a day? Would the world end if he forgot about his duties and drowned himself in a tankard?

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with your girl running off in tears, now would it?” Caius prodded. “Spied her leaving the throne room all choked up. Like you just called off the wedding.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Hadrian commented at once. It was hard to even picture Arielle crying after some of the accounts he heard from men who’d seen her fighting on the battlefield. “And my, you’re wielding a rather liberal tongue after seeing me knock down a man who’d done the same.”

A smirk crept across Caius’ grizzled face. “Forgive me Your Majesty. It was a good swing, but I still hit harder. Besides, you don’t keep me around for my etiquette, you keep me around because I’m good at killing folk. And if that ain’t enough, in all the years since you’ve dragged me out of that pit and put me into your service, I’ve learned that once you’ve had a few drinks in you I can say just about anything and you’ll brush it off. It’s the one time I can tell you what a right royal pain in the ass you are at times.” Hadrian scowled at the man but said nothing, merely lifting his cup for another drink. Caius meanwhile shifted his attention from the king, taking in their surroundings.
“Well if you’re going to booze yourself into a stupor” his shield went on, “At least find somewhere better to do it than this drab fucking room. This chamber’s seen enough bad energy to drown a man in despair as easily as that piss you’re drinking.”

Hadrian couldn’t argue with that, so he gathered up the ledger Arielle brought and left the council room, his Shield ever in his shadow. As he crossed the looming throne of his forefathers, the thought of a million different responsibilities began to assault his brain, stabbing at him like little needles. But he ignored them all, breezing away from the mantle of king and heading towards the retiring room instead. He hailed down a servant along the way, telling her where they could find a few missing articles of clothing and requesting a new cup bearer be sent up to him in the meantime, along with a bottle of his special reserves. The woman bowed and hurried off to obey while Hadrian made for his lap of leisure.

The retiring room had long been a place for the crown to relax and unwind, a den of solitude where the royalty might unload their burdens. Dusky light greeted them once they stepped into the room, filtered in from the dark red drapes covering the windows. A huge marble fireplace took up the far wall, and setting it to light was Hadrian’s first task. As the flames came to life, providing warmth and brightening the room, Hadrian took a breath and finally allowed himself to relax a bit. He took to one of the lavish couches centered around a sitting table, Caius taking a seat across from him whilst awaiting his cup bearer. The young servant boy arrived but a short time later, fresh faced and looking nervous to be waiting on his sovereign for the first time. The boy managed to keep all the etiquette Caius claimed to lack, promptly serving his king before moving on to the Shield. Caius, however, denied the offer.

“Oh I assure you this here isn’t piss,” Hadrian told him over the spirits, but his guest shook his head.

“What with all the high lords and pompous nobles you’ve shat on lately it’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking to lop off your head. Best at least one of us keeps a clear head for that.”

“What’s life without pricking a few hides?” Hadrian said, grinning. “But very well then. Here’s to your sobriety.” Hadrian lifted his cup in mock cheers before taking a draught. His head was more than buzzing by this point, and after spending so long holding everything together it felt pretty good letting it all slip to the back of his mind. His Shield always proved good company after a day with stuck up aristocrats; that was part of the reason Hadrian chose the man for the position, as well as his facility for murder. Life would be a drag if it was spent around someone he couldn’t stand, and the brashness of the old scarred fighter was a breath of fresh air at times. Time seemed to melt away as they talked, discussing nothing important but instead reminiscing on old times. Caius was always enthusiastic boasting of feats back in the arena, some of which Hadrian had actually witnessed but had no qualms over hearing recounted. Usually Caius ended such stories in gruesome enough detail that it might turn a lesser man green, and with so much wine in his belly Hadrian couldn’t help but get a wave of that after one colorful description.

“Just sloughed right off his bones!” his shield proclaimed. “Never even saw it coming. You could still see the shock on his face as it fell away.” Their young cup-bearer was equally enthralled, ears latched to the stories of life and death in the deadly fighting pits from his spot across the room. But soon the topics of conquest turned from battle to women, and the boy was left even more wide eyed at those descriptions. “That’s what you need if you want to forget all your troubles,” Caius declared, “Women, not wine. It’s hard to think about anything else when you’re deep inside a buxom beauty, tits bouncing in your face! You’ve got yourself a little bride to be now, don’t you? Why aren’t you chasing her down instead of these spirits? A little birdy told me she was seen sneaking into your chambers last night. Is it true what they say about girls from the north?” Caius wore a big ole’ grin at the question, which Hadrian met with a dark look of warning.

“Careful now. I’m not sure I’ve had that much to drink.” Though, he had downed quite a bit. His head was swimming in a delightful sea of carefree thoughts. At the mention of Arielle, however, all those thoughts began to converge on her. It had already been hard not to think of her, even as they sat talking and drinking. The stray thought would carry him to her, remembering what Caius said about her tears and wondering where she ran off to. More than once he thought to seek her out instead of sitting here, wasting the day away until the sun crept beneath the horizon, but he found himself reluctant. He’d promised her freedom after all, that he wouldn’t keep eyes on her every time she wanted to be alone. He would make good on that promise, knowing full well that Arielle wouldn’t keep herself away for long if she truly wanted him near. But not that she’d been brought up, she was all he could think about.

“Besides,” he said, focusing on his Shield, “Nothing happened between us.”

“Why? Something wrong with your cock?” Hadrian looked at him incredulously. “Well what else could it be?” Caius went on. “Have you looked at her? Why are you sitting here with me when you’ve got a pretty little sight like that all over you?”

“That ‘pretty little sight’ has spent the last several years trying to topple my kingdom and serve my head up to her people on a spike. That tends to make things complicated.”

“If you gave half a shit about that you wouldn’t have asked her to marry you,” he pointed out. “You don’t need to marry that girl to end this war. You’ve got plenty of ways of doing that. I’ve told you a few myself. You asked for that girl’s hand because you wanted it, plain and simple.

Hadrian sat back, collapsing into the plush cushions of his seat with a weary sigh. “Is that so? With pearls of wisdom like that perhaps I should have taken you on as an advisor instead of a guardian. But have you considered by that logic, I would have acted on such a urge when I had the chance? I’m doing this for my Kingdom not for myself, or because I harbor some secret desire.”

Caius chuckled at that, elbows digging on his knees as he leaned forward with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “The only reason you haven’t fucked that girl is because you’re afraid of her,” he boldly stated. “She’s a killer. You can see it in her eyes. She’s been on the battlefield, right in the thick of it. Men have swung at her and she’s swung back harder. That intimidates you. You’ve never been with a girl that strong. You don’t even know what it is to kill a man.”

Hadrian looked a little stung by the declaration, his face a touch of red and not just from the flush of the wine he’d been drinking all day. “I’ve executed several men in the time I’ve sat the throne,” he argued.

“Aye but have you ever swung the sword yourself? Ever felt what it was like to cut through flesh and bone and all? Even if you have… I know you’ve never stood the front lines before. You’ve never had a bloke swinging back. She has, and you’re afraid you won’t be able to handle a woman like that.”

Hadrian was still keen to disagree, but that fickle pride had been wounded over his Shield’s points. Indeed, he had never stood the battlefield. While he’d overcome numerous trials in his life, even been granted extensive martial training, his father never allowed his only son and heir to risk himself in the heat of war. Hadrian’s time was better spent with education, honing his mind so that he might direct his forces from the safety of his citadel, tucked behind the towering, stone walls of the city. It was hard not to feel a little bruised over the fact his bride to be had that sort of practical experience, while the name Aldrich kept him sheltered away from any such opportunities to prove himself. But Hadrian crushed those doubts before they could take root in his mind, and sneered.

“Oh I’m perfectly capable of handling her,” he vowed, thinking back to the way she practically writhed beneath him in bed this morning. “Arielle may be better acquainted with the taste of steel and battle, but we’ve been testing each other ever since we were kids. I know how she thinks, and I know her weak spots, and how to press them if I have to. I’ve known how to keep her pining and chasing after me since those days of our childhood. I didn’t ask her to marry me because I want her as a wife, I asked because I knew she would say yes. And I would be known as the man who finally put an end to the war.”
“I can see you’ve done a fine job convincing yourself of that,” Caius retorted, still wearing his grin.

In a huff, Hadrian pushed to his feet, flustered by the turn this conversation had taken. Contrary to his denial, Arielle continued to burn in his mind, a searing thought that incinerated all others. Hadrian was trying to convince himself he didn’t want her, but his mind was so clogged up with the memory of tossing her down on that bed and pulling himself over her that he was about ready to go crazy. And all of it was amplified by the alcohol heating up his blood, leaving him brimming with feverish energy. Finally, he turned to Caius and threw up his hands.

“You’re right,” he said, though he wasn’t referring to the comments about Arielle. “I need a woman. I have to clear my head. Let’s go for a walk.”

And as quick as that, they were moving on from the retiring room, the cup bearer dismissed to wonder over the exchange as the men left. Hadrian outfitted himself with a dark, hooded cloak before they left, founding himself in no mood to be recognized and hounded at as he walked out among the city. There was his promise to Arielle to keep in mind as well; he could lose himself in all the harlots he wanted so long as he exercised discretion. So, once he was covered and appearing as no one of interest, Hadrian descended the grand staircase to the front doors, Caius trailing several steps behind. He knew the constant presence of his shield could possibly ruin his attempts at circumspection, but few if any they passed on the streets were like to know the man by face.

Upon leaving the castle Hadrian was surprised to find that the sun had already fled the skies, with velvety darkness coming in to blanket the cityscape. The night carried a soft breeze, and enough of a chill that Hadrian could see his breath hanging in the air. It was a stark contrast to the heat from the wine. His insides were a furnace compared to the cold wind on his face. He tucked his hands into his cloak to keep them warm and ambled on, crossing the courtyard and leaving the castle grounds to wander the cobblestones of the city streets. Hadrian preferred to forget all about Arielle at the moment, but he kept wondering at where she might be, imagining she could be watching him even now, donned in some fresh disguise. Bright eyes scanned the shadow of the alleyways, half expecting her to pop out and catch him by surprise.

But the city was desolate, absolutely no one on the streets to see them. The turmoil wrought by the war was enough to keep people shut away at the best of times, but the frigid temperatures of late left people especially favoring their hearths and shelters. Winter was still releasing its grip, and cloudy nights like this could prove bitter enough to chase anyone to the nearest fire. But Hadrian wasn’t too bothered by the cold. The air was crisp, and laden with the familiar smell of smoke bellowing up from chimneys towards the inky clouds above. It was strange treading the city like this, no one around save for his Shield. The amber light cast from the windows of the houses and establishments gave proof of life, but otherwise there was not a soul to be found. That served him well enough, and Hadrian kept apace, his feet carrying him towards his destination without a second thought. He knew this city better than anyone, and he’d walked this same path more than once in his youth…

A wry smile spread across his lips as he thought back to the days before he’d ascended to the throne, back when he could afford to cut loose and have fun for a change. But no sense lamenting over having inherited his father’s problems, he came all this way to help forget that sort of thing, after all. Little had changed in the years since he last came here, everything just the way he remembered it; from the towering cathedral at the center of town, looming over the inferior thatched roofing of the houses below it, down to the gnarled, stone pathway leading through its shadow. Hadrian glanced up to the high spires of the church as he passed, a monument built to honor the deity he seldom spared a thought for anymore. When he was young the elders would regale him with all sorts of legends, spinning him tales of how the first kings of Eirlea were chosen by the gods themselves, their righteous rule ordained by heaven. And maybe that was true; maybe the gods did descend from on high, placing a holy crown upon the first of his noble ancestors. But Hadrian was the last of that sacred bloodline, and not once in his life had he borne witness to divine intervention. In this regard, he was every bit the cynic his father was. And yet, as he looked upon the carved faces in stone, drinking in the artwork of the ancient cathedral, he couldn’t help but shiver at the possibility.

He was glad to be out of the church’s looming presence by the time he reached the street he was looking for. At the far end sat a discreet building, its wide windows shuttered for privacy. Before they could even reach the door it was thrown open, golden light spilling out into the street as a man came stumbling out. The sweet aroma of incense drifted out with him, along with the musical note of a woman bidding him farewell. Looking chipper as could be, the man wobbled off into the night, looking even deeper into his cups than Hadrian. He paid no attention to either the king or his Shield as he went on his merry way, leaving Hadrian to approach the door in his wake. Upon reaching it he gave raised his hand and gave the door three firm raps.

Caius stood by impatiently while they waited. “I take it this means I’m going to be on door duty all night,” he grumbled, sighing with frustration.

“You should be used to it by now,” Hadrian managed to say just before the madam came to answer the door.

They were greeted by a tall, slender woman in an white, hip-hugging gown. Auburn curls fell past her shoulders, and deep blue eyes regarded the hooded man and his stout companion with a touch of interest. Hadrian recognized her at once, causing a ghost of a smile to touch his lips, but that same recognition did not spark up in her pools of deep blue. He wasn’t easy to discern when she could see little more than his nose and chin, after all.

“You gentlemen looking for warm yourselves up from the cold?” she asked in a honeyed voice. “Well you’ve come to the right place for that.”

She stepped aside and extended an arm, granting them entry. Hadrian took the invitation, feeling a wave of warmth rush over him as he crossed the threshold and stepped into the brothel. The heady smell of arousal and incense struck him at once, luring him deeper into the establishment while the madam closed the door behind them. Once it was secured, she turned back to her guests, a genuine smile spread across her rosy lips. Before she could speak, however, Hadrian lowered his hood, revealing his mess of jet black hair, and those telling, seafoam eyes of the Aldrich kings. The woman’s own eyes went wide over seeing him.

“My!” she exclaimed, clutching at her chest with surprise, “This is a rare pleasure.” Smile turning to grin, the madam performed her best curtsy. “Welcome, Your Majesty.” She straightened back up, looking him up and down with a devious gleam to her eye.

“Good to see you, Karla,” he said, grinning right back. All the wild memories they’d shared came rushing to him.

“I haven’t seen you since you were just a prince,” she said fondly, blue eyes looking him up and down. “Look at you now: a king in full. I bet its hard work sitting on that musty old throne all the time. Is that why you came to see me? Does sitting on top of the world leave you aching in a terrible way for your little old Karla?” She stepped forward as he unfastened the tie of his cloak, soft hands reaching out to press into his chest. Her slender fingers gripped into the leather of his jerkin, sparkling blue eyes watching his greens with excitement while she bit down on her lower lip, thinking of the last time she’d seen him. “Not many men can make a whore blush but somehow you manage to do it. What took you so long to come visit me again?”

“It’s busy work sitting that throne,” Hadrian told her, looking down with that same wild excitement. He shrugged the cloak off his shoulders, which she diligently fetched from his hands. “I’ve been running this kingdom, doing my best to make sure the rebels don’t scale those walls and put you out of work.”

“And what a fine job of it you do,” she said, smirking. “With a strong king like you, working so tirelessly to protect us all. I knew not to put any stock into the rumors when I heard about a certain woman with red hair wandering freely about the city. King Hadrian would never let a traitor roam these city streets, let alone the rebel queen herself.”
Hadrian frowned at the sarcasm. “I see nothing gets past your ears,” he marveled, wondering just how far word of Arielle’s presence had spread already.

“Men fill our ears with rumors as eagerly as they fill us with whatever other pittance they have to offer,” she explained with a musical laugh. “My girls are especially talented at coaxing it out of them. But enough about rumors and rebels for now. You don’t come to me for small talk, only to satisfy your hunger. Let’s see if we can’t do something about that,” she said, gesturing for the two of them to follow before leading them through the entry way. Hadrian trailed along, watching her back as she guided them deeper into her perfumed den of pleasures.

“It looks like I’m not the only one who’s been moving up in the world,” Hadrian commented, admiring the sway of her hips while she walked ahead of him. “You’re look like you’re as much a harlot as I am a prince these days. You weren’t the running the place the last time I came.”

“Oh I’m every bit the filthy harlot I ever was,” she promised, giving him a bright smile, “Just because I’m calling a few shots doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to have my fun. True, I don’t make the money on my back like I used to, but I’m more than willing to make an exception in your case. Even so, I hope you’re open to new experiences. If the King is anything like the Prince I have a girl or two that can help you forget all about those big bad rebels skulking about your castle. You might not even remember your name by the time they’ve got you in their hands.”

“You’ve never steered me wrong,” Hadrian said, brandishing another grin as they came into a dimly lit parlor. Karla handed Hadrian’s cloak off to a scantily clad, doe-eye and bare footed girl waiting for them there, and realizing who was in their presence, she gave a steep bow before hurrying off to hang his coat, an anklet of charms jangling around her ankle with every step.

“And I don’t intend to start now,” the madam replied to her king, gesturing him to have a seat on a cushioned lounge and make himself comfortable. “Who knows? Perhaps after you try something new you’ll still crave something a little more familiar. You’ve always had quite the appetite.”

“And you somehow always manage to satiate it.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” she told him, retrieving a small, silver bell, and giving it a gentle ring. At the pealing, the artists of their trade came forth, filling the room with a bounty of sightly women to choose from. Hadrian sat back and watched them all line up with practiced form, entranced by the cornucopia of beauty set before him. He feasted on the sight of their shapely bodies as they were presented, some tastefully hidden behind fine silks or more racy apparel. One or two denounced even that, proudly displaying their naked bodies for him to enjoy. He wasn’t even sure where to start with the choices placed before him, but it was more than enough to whet his appetite.

“Now mind your manners ladies,” Karla said to her loyal workers, eyeing them sternly. “It’s not very often we get to host royalty.” That sent a murmur of excitement through the girls, and despite the warning of their mistress all manners seemed forgot, a number of them sauntering forward to join Hadrian on the couch.

“Royalty, are you?” Came the taunting voice of one of the harlots, a gorgeous little thing with long, dark brown hair and the eyes to match. Hadrian’s eyes fell to her well endowed bust appreciatively, followed by her slender waist and toned legs. She hauled herself right up into his lap, taking center stage while two more girls joined him on the couch, taking up either side. She watched him like a hawk as she pulled herself close, soft bosom pressing into his leather clad chest. “Where’s your crown then? If I’m going to fuck a king you should look the part.” She said, wiggling around in his lap in an effort to excite him.

“Like he’d choose a slut like you,” one of the other girls protested, pulling away one of Hadrian’s hands that had fallen to his aggressor’s supple hips. “A powerful man like him needs a woman with more class,” she said, raising the hand to her lips and lithely kissing the battered knuckles she found there. “One who knows how to properly please her king.” She gave him a taste of how well suited she would be for that task, keeping her bright amber eyes locked with his as she teased a fingertip against her plump lips, kissing the pad of his index finger before slipping it into her mouth and sucking gently. Her tongue undulated on the way down, flickering with a refined and practiced skill.

“As if you’re any less of a slut!” Complained the third, watching her antics with a cocky smirk. “Besides why would he take either of you when he could have me.” Somewhat rudely, she shoved away the whore planted in his lap and took up the space herself, brushing away the long strands of blonde hair that covered her bare chest to grant him an unobstructed view of her perky breasts. “Why settle when I can give you a better time than any of the rest?” she suggested, soft fingers gripping his shoulders as she pulled herself up, pushing her warm breasts right up into his face. Taut nipples brushed across his lips, daring him to take a nibble or perhaps a taste. But no sooner than his lips parted did she pull away, grinning down while she teased.

“No need to fight over me,” he managed to say with a heady breath, “I’m sure we can find a plausible solution.”

The aggressive blond in his lap reached down, boldly grasping for the erection between his legs, which brought a sharp breath out of her victim. “It’s not going down any faster with us sitting here talking about it,” she urged him. “Maybe we should just share you and really put that kingly stamina to the test.” She continued rubbing him through his trousers, trying to work him up. “They say the kings of Eirlea are chosen by the gods. If that’s true none should be able to match their vigor.”

But Hadrian’s attention extended beyond the three hanging over him. Instead he’d taken to one of the girls remaining in line, one with honey eyes that watched him with a touch of excitement and thrill. Somehow, even in her restraint, she looked every bit as eager as the ones throwing themselves at him. But she was patient, even confident while she waited for him to notice her. No sooner than he had did she latch on, masterfully drawing his attention to her sun-kissed body by way of her hands. Smooth fingers traveled down her taut belly, openly exposed as she wore little more than a scant top and draping loin cloth lashed around her wide hips with a string of beads. Long, black hair was tied into a long braid and draped over one shoulder as she displayed herself to him.

Karla followed the direction of his gaze, noting that spark in his eye as he watched the beauty offer herself up to him. “I see you’ve made your choice,” she noted.

The blonde’s head turned on a swivel, seeking out the one who’d stolen his attention before shifting off his lap with a disappointed pout and a tart grumble. Hadrian stood and approached the temptress, who waited still as stone, never taking her eyes off of him. “And who might you be?” he asked, reaching out the brush the soft pad of a thumb across down her cheek and across her full lips. They eagerly pressed against the curious digit, and she shivered at his touch.

“I could tell you I am if that’s what you want,” she said, “But I think the time would be better spent showing you what I can do.” And then she took a step back, evading his hand and reaching out to offer her own for him to take. A wickedly devious look swept her face, her tongue coming out to wet her excited lips once he took her hand. As he did, she twisted around, leading him towards one of the many private rooms further down the hall. While the couple took their leave, Karla’s lidded eyes fell on Caius left standing in the wind.

“Any appetite of your own?” she wondered, and at once her legion of seductresses turned their attention on the king’s loyal servant, descending upon him like they’d forgotten all about the king they’d failed to hook, and his Shield was the only man in the world worth their attention.

“More than you can imagine,” Caius groaned as the women taunted him with their assets, but his duty kept him from enjoying himself and the same fashion, and so it was to their great displeasure when he pulled himself away, having nothing but the fireplace to warm him while Hadrian made off with his own method for combating the cold.

~

The night had certainly lost its chill once Hadrian found himself alone with his nameless company for the evening. His blood felt like hot lava as his lips pressed into hers. Tongues met for a tantalizing dance, greeting each other ravenously while her hands worked at the buttons of his jerkin, trying to do away with all the layers that kept bare his bare flesh away from her molten hot skin. Hadrian lost himself in the taste of her, as sweet as strawberries, while his hands tore at her own clothing. Hers were much more eager to be shed, her top easily coming up and over her head only to be cast away. Their lips crashed back into each other the moment they were clear, and she’d finally undone the last loathsome button in her way. She peeled away the leather, sliding it down his strong arms and letting it drop to the floor before eagerly pulling off his undershirt.

Her hands pressed into his hard muscle as his torso was bared at last, a sultry little moan spilling out of her mouth into his as quivering fingers scratched their way down his hard body. “I’ve never been with royalty before,” she said, breaking away from his addicting lips for some much needed air. “It’s not going to be treason if I’m a little rough with you, right? I’d hate to lose my head before we even get started.”

Before he could answer she dug her claws in, raking them across his chiseled chest and completely making him forget what he was about to say. She didn’t give him a chance to remember either, forcefully shoving him back towards the bed. Hadrian dropped sitting to the mattress, casting her a daring look over the sudden shift in control. His fun met the expression with an innocent smile and quietly climbed up to straddle his lap. Once she was in place she shoved him down again, pushing him to his back by the shoulders. “Treason or not,” she said in her husky voice, “I promise you’ll like it.”

He was liking it so far, especially as she came down and began to tease, lips tongue and teeth all eager to play as she kissed her across across his neck and down his chest. Hands added to the stimulation, scratching and caressing where ever they could reach while she made her way further down still. Hadrian delighted in the feel of it, and yet even as she worked her magic, he found himself distracted. He couldn’t help but compare her every touch to the way it felt when Arielle touched him. Even that flutter of kisses down his neck invoked her memory, causing him to recall the way the fiery redhead nipped as his shoulder while he carried her to the canopied bed back to his solar. And somehow, compared to that sweet recollection, the once heavenly attentions of the whore in his employ began to feel like an abrasive nuisance, distracting him from what he really wanted.

It wasn’t until her hands reached out for the belt of his trousers did Hadrian finally accept this would be no solution at all. He could fuck away his frustrations until the sun came up and still it would and still Arielle would haunt his mind, lingering on the edge of every thought. At the realization, Hadrian reached down, disabling the hands that fumbled with his belt. “Stop,” he told her, gathering up his drunken senses all at once.

“What’s wrong?” she said, retreating from her efforts with a note of surprise.

“Nothing… I…” Hadrian fumbled for the words as he sat back up and pulled away from her. “Sorry, but I won’t be needing you after all,” he decided, running a hand through his thick, pushing it out of it face. “I thought this is what I wanted, but it turns out I want something else more.” He offered her a wry smile. “Don’t worry about the money. I think I’ll keep the room for the night, anyway…” The excess of wine had his head swimming by now, and he was none too interested in a lengthy walk back to the castle. All he could think about was all the duties and responsibilities that waited for him there, and after this Hadrian wanted nothing more than to hide away from them for the rest of the night.

“As his majesty wishes,” she agreed, sounding somewhat hurt over the sudden rejection. Hadrian didn’t meet her eyes as she surveyed him, retaining a touch of hesitation before she gathered up her discarded top and left the king to his lonesome. Hadrian collapsed back onto the bed when she was gone, eyes staring up at the dark ceiling as he lay there. He felt hollow, his body buzzing from the wine and his mind clouded yet grounded from the dark thoughts swirling up. Predictably, his mind turned to the woman he was meant to marry, and silently he wondered if she’d ever come looking for him. More yet he wondered over how she might feel about the fact he’d never come looking for her, especially after seeing her off from the council room in such a state. Hadrian kicked off his boots as he considered it, then squirmed around on the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep off his stupor. But his brained could not be silenced, jumping from one thought the next. It was especially difficult to relax when he considered the cesspool he was lying in. The thought of how many questionable activities had taken place in this bed mounted to his discomfort. Before he knew it he could no longer bring himself to remain on the mattress, and instead found himself sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The king found himself smiling with irony as he considered his position, one so very much like he’d found and chastised Arielle over just that morning. How the lofty have fallen, he thought, musing over how he’d gone from a bed of luxury to sleeping on the hard, uncomfortable floor of a whore house. But somehow it was still more comfortable than the bed, and eventually his eyes did manage to close, his torrent of thoughts steadily muffled by the blanket of sleep. He stirred all throughout the night, but slumbered straight on until morning, whence came the aggravated pounding of a fist at his door. Even that took a while to rouse him, but eventually his eyes opened to a flood of sunlight, and his Shield shouting from outside the room.

“Oi!” Caius called to him. “You better be alive in there. I’m not looking to be out of a job.”

Hadrian groaned as he came to, confused as to where he’d ended up at first. It all came back soon enough, prompted by another round of battering at the door. Groggy as all hell, the king picked himself up off the floor and meandered to the door, opening it to permit entry to his impatient friend. Caius took a long look at his disheveled friend, shaking his head. “Not looking very kingly this morning,” he said, looking into Hadrian’s blear eyes. “We’d better get back to the castle grounds before someone seems you staggering out of this hovel, while it’s still early enough to avoid prying eyes.”

Hadrian agreed, nodding with a yawn before moving to gather up his clothing. His head was throbbing, and his mouth dry like sandpaper. It took some effort to get himself dressed and ready, all his body wanted to do was lay back down and catch up on sleep. On top of that it complained over his choice of bed, bones aching from his time spent on the floor. But he pulled himself together, and soon he was donning his cloak once more, bidding his farewells to Karla before he and Caius were back on their way to the citadel that dwarfed all other buildings. They made it through the castle gates and past the courtyard without incident, allowing Hadrian to lower his hood and resume his natural presence. He only made it as far as the grand hall before he was finally noticed.

“Ah, Your Grace!” hailed his royal secretary, who’d seemed as though he’d just been searching for the monarch. He paused though, arching a slanted brow at the ruffled state of the king. “Rough night?” he asked, glancing at the dark circles beneath his eyes as well as the fact the king hadn’t seen a change of clothes.

Hadrian didn’t stop to greet the man, leaving the lord to follow in stride as Hadrian ascended the stairs, heading towards his solar. “You could say that,” Hadrian answered, keeping his attention on the path ahead. “What brings you here so early?”

“An interesting tidbit I heard. Apparently, someone has commissioned a could of royal wheelhouses, several horses, an entire retinue of guards, and enough supplies to sustain all of it for several weeks or more. And where might all of this be heading? Well that seems to be a matter of some secrecy and debate, but the general word is: North. And all of it is to be ready by tomorrow afternoon, letting to leave on a whim. And I thought to myself, well that can’t be right. Surely the king wouldn’t be planning such a dangerous trip into hostile territory without at least making the announcement to his faithful councilors. There aren’t very many of us to clue in. After all, our small council seems to be growing smaller every day.”

Hadrian finally stopped, leering at the man who wore a blank smile over the information he discovered. “So where exactly are you headed, I wonder? Running off to the north is a big step up from spending the odd night outside the comforts of your palace.”

“You’ll know when it’s time for you to know,” Hadrian promised, giving his secretary a sharp look. “The details haven’t been ironed out, and I’ve a fair few things to discuss with Arielle before I make any kind of official announcement.”

“I see…” his secretary mumbled, scratching at his chin. The answer was less than satisfactory, but he knew better than to press for any more details. Surely the king had his reasons for making sure everything was ready to go at a moment’s notice, even if these ‘details’ weren’t ironed out.

“Speaking of my bride to be,” Hadrian said, changing the subject, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

“Not since the Lord Minister tasted of your fist yesterday afternoon,” the secretary admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “Have you checked with the kitchen staff? She seems awfully fond of dressing up with them.”

Hadrian grunted at the jest and parted ways with the lord, continuing on to his chambers. He kept his eyes peeled for her signature red hair, wondering if she’d ever bothered to return to the castle or if she’d spent the night adrift like himself. He couldn’t say, having seen no sign of her by the time he made it to his solar, where he wasted little time in shedding his clothes from the day before and making himself more presentable. He promised to give Arielle the space and trust she deserved, but if she didn’t turn up soon he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from tracking her back down, for the benefit of trust was proving much harder to provide than he initially expected.
 
When Hadrian made his way into his solar, he’d find the vast space oddly, and comfortingly, warm. The fireplace glowed with soft embers of amber coals and broken wood, a thin ribbon of smoke trailing upwards into the chimney. Bed sheets were crumpled in the centre, as if a weight had lingered there in the middle of the wide bed but had hesitated to move until the most recent of moments. A bottle of vintage wine was set on chest of drawers beside the bed, a pair of goblets in attendance. One remained full almost to the brim while the other had been drained dry, leaving only a residual droplet in its belly. The scent of the wood fire did little to mask the rose and cinnamon that suggested the presence of one particular Northerner; one who seemed to have given up in waiting for him.

Just after the strike of midnight, Arielle had found her way into Hadrian’s solar, dressed in her oversized white nightshirt with the bottle of wine and goblets in hand. Copper hair was tied up loosely, the curls falling about her face in wild wisps. She wasn’t particularly surprised to find the space empty, and had taken it upon herself to move into his solar to make herself comfortable. Arielle had knelt by the fire, having tugged a small rug closer by to soften the bite of the stone on her knees, setting it alight with a match and tending to it regularly throughout the night. She’d settled into the centre of the bed, her legs tucked up beneath her as she sat upon her flexed feet.

One hour passed. Two hours passed. Still, Arielle waited. After the happenings of the meeting and her abrupt departure, she realised that none other than Hadrian might have welcomed her to share her thoughts. Morteus was a man of skill and wisdom, but he never dealt with emotion not even those of the woman who lead him. Yet, the longer she waited, the less sure she was that he would be receptive to her wanting to share her grief with him.

Three hours passed. Four and five. Arielle no longer waited. She’d risen from the bed with a curse in her mother’s tongue, taking the iron poker to stoke the fire until the wood crumpled and flames dwindled before dying. With one final look over her shoulder at the space of the solar she’d occupied while he had been elsewhere, Arielle made her way into the corridor and disappeared into shadow.

That very same night, in the early hours of the morning when the horizon was just beginning to lighten from the shades of midnight black and navy, Arielle had dressed in tan riding pants and forest green shirt tucked into the high waist band. Copper hair was wrapped tightly into a bun and tied with a leather band, though wisps and tendrils of red hair still fell about her face to tickle freckled cheeks. If she wouldn’t be able to talk about the grief that clenched at her chest, and if Morteus wouldn’t allow to to be beaten into a pulp to feel something other than this, she needed to find an alternative method. How odd it might seem to those who were waking early to get on with their day, to see the rebel sprinting along cobblestone streets as if she were being chased, yet simply running to exhaust herself.

The air was chilled, biting at bare cheeks and blushing them a shade of deep rose as she took a sharp corner and came to an abrupt halt. The frame may have been cloaked in dark fabric and their face hidden in shadow. The gait might have been weary, if not exhausted. The man at his flank very well should have been a dead giveaway but Arielle knew who it was that was sneaking out from the brothel, their footsteps sure albeit a little unsteady.

Hadrian.

It was just what she needed to forget the grief that had gripped at her heart since the afternoon prior. The realisation that she had already failed in her bold claims of keeping all of his attention, and that he would not have enough time to look elsewhere. Arielle pressed into the slick stone of the building’s corner, tucking into the shadows as she watched the King and his Shield stride down the street with purpose. While she had warmed his solar, with the intention of keeping him company while she grieved, he’d been in the whorehouse fucking some buxom beauty. Was she not enough?

The memory of his features growing cold as he stood from her and ordered her to leave his quarters the morning prior shifted to the forefront of her mind. Arielle had been unsure what it was that that meant, and what was the truth. Now, however, she felt fairly certain that Hadrian had been playing their game very well. Well enough to have her believe that there was something between them, when clearly he felt otherwise. A scowl was written deeply on her face, pulling her features into something furious as she peeled away from the old brick building to continue on her run into the outskirts of the city.

Fuck him.

She was enough. She didn’t doubt neither her competence as a wife, leader or woman. If Hadrian was not interested in what she had to offer, then he’d made it very clear. Arielle would not waste precious time investing in a man and marriage when it was not appreciated. From now on, it was simply a stalemate in order to finish the war, but nothing more.

Arielle knew where she stood now, and it twisted her into something darker.

* * * Two hours later * * *​
​

The scent of hay and leather infused the crisp air, a soft breeze leaking in through the gaps between wooden slats of the large stable. Each stall held a beast, all of varying sizes and colours. Dapple grey. Pinto. Chestnut. Bay. Roan. Heavy ropes swung from the rafters, swaying gently in the draught that tickled red wisps of hair across cheeks as Arielle came to stand before one stall door. A young stablehand had followed the redhead deep into the stable, unsure of what it was she believed she’d find.

“Preparations have already been made,” the young man grumbled as he threw a small rag over his shoulder. “Only the best steeds have been selected; the most sturdy and the most reliable. I don’t understand what it is that you’re looking for or hope to find.”

“Him.” Arielle nodded.

The creature before her was more of a beast than she could imagine, thick and the withers and several hands taller than the thoroughbred several stalls down. The Fresian was beautiful, it’s coat a smooth midnight black that coaxed her forward. Eyes were a dark shade of chocolate, pinning her with a stare as they were rimmed with equally dark and long lashes. Nostrils flared as heavy breath was expelled from large lungs, misting slightly in the chilled air. None had caught her eye, nor coaxed her forward to risk a touch. The other horses within these stables looked back at her with broken souls and blank eyes. Not this stallion. He looked at her with an all-knowing gaze as if she were kin.

“I want this horse to be prepared for the departure,” Arielle spoke confidently to the young stable hand from over her shoulder as she stepped forward towards the stall and reached out with cream fingers to run over the velvet snout. “No saddle and no bit. Just make sure his hooves are in good condition and change over the horseshoes. I’ll do the rest myself.”

“And how do you expect us to select the correct saddle if you are not here to―”

“I will not ride with a saddle,” she bit back at him. A beautiful beast such as this creature didn’t deserve the torture of leather and metal. He didn’t deserve to be broken like the others in the stalls about him. He was as Northern as she was; from the same arid, icy lands that hardened soul and heart. She and him were kin, and she would not dare to disrespect him and bind him like an animal.

Hot breath leaked between her fingers, the stallion shifting closer to press the velvet of his nose into her palm as he lipped at her thumb. Chocolate eyes never once left her face. Whatever the stablehand said next fell on deaf ears, the two creatures of the North falling into one another’s eyes. You and I are one.

* * *​

“I’m still yet to confirm the plans with Hadrian,” Arielle spoke a little bitterly as she swirled the goblet of wine before her. His name tasted sour on her tongue where once it had been sweet like anise. “But I would appreciate your presence during our travels. I’m afraid that there are very few people in which I can trust, and even less so considering the party that will be travelling will be formed simply to protect our glorious King.” A King which was still yet to show his face.

The table stretched out before her, a feast of fruits, cooked protein and loaves of bread were set out before them, their goblets filled so early in the morning with wine. Arielle couldn’t have cared any less whether the servants questioned her order for liquor before noon. Morteus had not touched his own, and had watched with narrowed eyes as Arielle leant across to pluck it from before him and drink his share. The hall seemed fairly bare, and Arielle had taken it upon herself to take the seat at the head of the table. Whether Hadrian walked in or not, she didn’t care. She’d warmed his bed and he hadn’t been there. She’d gone to keep him company and he hadn’t been there. And so, if Hadrian wouldn’t attend breakfast just as he’d missed their tea, then she’d be damned to leave him his seat.

Morteus, his fingers threaded together and hands kept in his lap simply watched the woman at the head of the table who was brimming with anger. “Yes, of course,” he nodded, though his eyes lingered on her features. “One must always have someone they trust close by. I expect that we shall be making several stops along the way?”

Arielle grumbled into her wine. “I would expect as much.”

“And your dear Hadrian.....how have things been progressing there?” Cool eyes watched the rise and fall of her throat as she took a deep swallow, seemingly becoming unsettled. He’d struck a nerve, one that he was astutely aware of, but it didn’t bother him to press her. He’d seen Arielle break and he’d seen her snap, and while she was something otherworldly when she was furious, it didn’t frighten him as it did the others. Her silence spoke more than any words she could have chosen and Morteus nodded and selected a fork to plunge into a strawberry. “I see.”
 
Hadrian welcomed the blanket of warmth that accompanied his chambers, reaping the benefits of the evening Arielle planned for them even after she’d taken her leave. It drove the chill from his bones as he shed his attire, instantly giving him more relief than his visit to the brothel had. He might have thought the servants were to thank for the dwindling embers in his hearth, if not for the sweet aroma on the air. It was a heavenly scent, one that told him of his visitor in the night even before he saw the rumbled sheets and abandoned wine. When he realized Arielle had been waiting for him, he felt a sharp pang of guilt. Their plans for tea came rushing back to mind, and Hadrian frowned as he wondered just how cross she might be over the fact he missed her twice. It was a lucky thing she wouldn’t know how he chose to spend his evening instead. After those bold claims in front of his councilmen, it probably wouldn’t go over very well if Arielle learned he slept in a whorehouse; girl or no girl to warm his bed. Or floor, in this case.

Then again, he thought, sly grin teasing his lips while he rummaged through his wardrobe, Maybe it would make her all the more eager to prove those words.

But, if he knew anything about Arielle, he’d wager she would be more sour than sweet over his extended absence. Judging by the lingering atmosphere of the room she’d been waiting for him quite some time, having left but recently. Even if she didn’t know where the king spent his time, she was sure to be curious over the reason he never returned to the solar. Hadrian donned himself in his raiment, settling on a dark gray waistcoat and a pair of black trousers, all the while contemplating what he might say if pressed about the disappearance. There was no reason he couldn’t tell the truth… Permission to keep on with his harlots was among the first of terms they discussed. Even if Arielle liked to boast he would never have time for another woman, it was still fair game. But then, why did he feel so awkward about it?

Hadrian planted himself before a large, standing mirror, and smoothed out his vest, hands brushing across the textured embroidery as they pushed their way down. Even in the fine clothes he couldn’t help but feel he was looking rather haggard this morning. His day spent hiding away from politics and losing himself in the drinks was meant to help him relax, to unwind a bit, but now he was feeling even worse than before. A lingering headache had taken root, and his body ached just as badly, complaining about the hard, flat surface he’d chosen to sleep on. Unlike Arielle, the king was not so accustomed to forsaking his royal bed. He now held a greater appreciation than ever the soft mattress and warm furs of he knew so well. There was also an unexpected pang of regret when he considered how Arielle must have spent her night warming that bed, readily available to meet his needs while he spent the night trying to forget all about her in the arms of a less complicated woman. A lot of good that did... His bride’s decree that he’d long for none but her was already coming to fruition, and after no more than some light foreplay at that.

Hadrian found himself torn away from those thoughts as Caius rang at the door, announcing the arrival of his Royal Advisor. A sigh broke past the king’s lips, and suddenly he remembered why he’d chosen to spend the previous day in solitude. He could scarcely go five minutes without some official or another hounding at him. “Show him in,” he boomed in return, pulling himself away from the mirror and the weary, deadpan eyes staring at him from it. The door of heavy oak wood pushed open and Auden breezed into the room a moment later. He came to halt when his eyes fell upon Hadrian, noting the king’s mess of black hair and gaunt expression with his own frown of disapproval.The lord held his tongue, however, standing by until the Shield closed the door behind him, granting them privacy.

“Your Grace,” he greeted Hadrian curtly. “I hear tell you decided to drink yourself right into the gutter last night.”

Hadrian looked at the man with a touch of surprise that he learned of it so quickly. Could he do nothing in this city without word of it passing from ear to ear as quickly as the plague? Was loss of any and all anonymity to be the curse that accompanied his crown? The idea left an acrid taste in his mouth, though he supposed he should have accepted that long before now. His name was carried on the lips of the people even before he ascended to the throne.
“You know who keeps a closer eye on the happenings of this castle than its guards?” Auden inquired, noticing his king’s surprise. “Its servants. They see and hear everything that transpires in this place; like flies on the wall. And it all comes passing through my ears eventually.”

Hadrian should have figured as much. He didn’t apply much of a filter while he spent the evening talking to Caius, all within earshot of the young cup bearer that attended them. No doubt the young lad would be eager to blab about his time serving the king. Who knew how many of the staff would have heard of his drunken time spent in the retiring room? And of course that story would have reached Auden, for he was the ‘Lord of Servants’ or so his other councilors liked to name him. The man’s status changed forever the day Hadrian granted him both land and titles, but that did not keep the other lords from remembering Auden’s days spent as a glorified butler for their previous king.

“It seems a touch irresponsible, don’t you think?” Auden pressed on when Hadrian remained silent. “Given our current state of affairs?”

“Ah yes,” Hadrian grumbled, “It wouldn’t be a hangover without one of your lectures.” He was in no mood for one of Auden’s long narrative pointing out the several mistakes he made; mistakes he was more than aware of already. “I just needed a day away from it all,” he explained, “And besides, a king may do as he likes.”

Auden bristled some at that excuse. “I can think of another king who did as he liked, when he liked,” he challenged, bright eyes narrowing at Hadrian, “And a vow you made never to follow in his footsteps. We are less than half a council as it stands, now is not the time for our king to go missing as well. You have only just begun taking the steps towards real change in this country; towards realizing a peaceful future. You must keep to that path now more than ever.”

Hadrian’s blood ran hot when Auden compared him to his father, and then practically accused him of throwing away all his hard work over a few cups of wine and one night spent away at the brothel. “It was one evening to myself. A few cups of wine, some beautiful women… I’d hardly call it a crime worthy of the king before me.”

“And that business with Lord Mandon?” Auden suggested, arching a bushy eyebrow. “That one might have made him proud.”

“He had it coming,” Hadrian replied smoothly. “I will not tolerate blatant disrespect. The man may bluster for a few days, but let him wail. Nothing will come of it.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Lord Auden muttered, unable to deny the Minister’s actions or foolhardy words. “But if I may, I have seen you lose yourself you anger before. I have seen you at your darkest, and dare say I have done my best to pluck you from the depths of it; to lift up and set you on the proper course when I realized your father was too broken to do it himself. You will forgive me if I am not so keen to abandon my efforts simply because you now wear the crown.”

“I would never ask you to,” Hadrian said, standing rigid before the man whose words struck true. “I’ve always considered myself lucky that I’ve had you there to guide me. That is why I’ve named you my most trusted advisor. But one thrown punch and a night spent in my cups doesn’t mean I’ve lost my way. I’m still very much aware of my responsibilities, and I won’t be starting wars and beheading nobles like dear old dad just yet. So you can relax on that front.” Hadrian wished he could take his own advice. He was feeling more on edge than ever as he stood there, weathering Auden’s wizened scrutiny. “So is this speech all that brought you here?” he went on, meeting the man’s stern gaze, “Or did you have something more to say?”

The Royal Advisor’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh, a puff of annoyed air that rushed past his nostrils while he regarded the stubborn monarch before him. “No, I come bearing other news as well,” he admitted, retrieving a sealed missive from his pocket. “A rider in the night,” Auden explained, handing it over to the king. “From our friend abroad, I believe.”

Hadrian accepted the scroll confirming the identity of the sender by way of the symbol stamped into the wax seal. He wasted little time peeling it away and unfurling the message. Eyes hungrily followed the fine penmanship of ink, taking in the words scrawled across the parchment.


To The Raven:
I have received your message, and set my men to task as instructed. You shall see as they see, hear as they hear.
For me, the trail leads to the land of your mother’s birth. I hear there’s good hunting to be found there. Should fortune find me, perhaps my next letter will include a few pelts. Until then, keep your blade sharp.
Your Eyes

As Hadrian finished reading the note, he frowned, then handed the scroll back to Auden and allowing him to read it as well. Hadrian turned his back on the man while he did, his own mind now running with the implications. So far East? He marveled, considering the foreign powers from which his mother hailed. It was much further than he’d ever ventured, far beyond land and sea on the other side of the world. He never expected this chase might lead so far outside he reach. But it would do much to explain why he’d turned up so few results.

“To Sardonia?” Auden exclaimed, equally surprised to learn where the contact was heading. “A strange turn to make, to be sure…”

“I don’t suppose any of our influence reaches that far?” Hadrian wondered, passing a glance back at his advisor.

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace,” Auden told him, shifting uncomfortably over the topic of the far eastern kingdom. “Your grandfather still sits the throne, but after the death of your mother a wedge was driven between he and King Leander. Our two nations haven’t been on speaking terms in all the years since.”

Hadrian already knew as much, though he dared to hope otherwise. It seemed his father was particularly skilled at severing one profitable alliances; be it his longstanding friendship with Arielle’s father, or even ties of blood, as seen the day Hadrian witnessed the king denounce his own sister. His estranged aunt now stood as the widowed queen of yet another far away kingdom, and he held about as much sway with her as he did with his grandfather in Sardonia. As usual, Hadrian found himself bitter at the consequences of his father’s reign, and languishing over his efforts in absolving them.

“We might consider reaching out?” Auden suggested.

“In time, perhaps.” Meanwhile, I would not risk drawing attention to our friend’s presence. Let us see if this hunt bears fruit before we take action. I have enough on my plate with this impending treaty of a wedding…” His mind switched back to Arielle, and how she’d waited so diligently for the king that never showed. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find the bride for that, would you?” Hadrian asked of his loyal subject.

“As a matter of fact, I saw her entering the dining hall in the company of a rather brutish looking fellow,” Auden told him. “I’d wager she’s still there.”

Hadrian perked a brow at that. “With any luck that’ll be the body filling one of our empty council seats,” he guessed, remembering Arielle’s candidate for captain of the guard. “I’d best go and pay them a visit. I fear I’ve neglected my bride for far too long now.” The longer he left Arielle alone the more likely she was to stir up some trouble in the hopes of getting his attention back.

Auden bowed at the king dismissed himself, leaving the chambers in Hadrian’s wake. Caius fell into stride behind their leader as he emerged, and silence descended as they stalked towards the mess hall. Hadrian’s mind was occupied with thoughts of Sardonia. He considered everything he knew about the country, though most of that came from the stories his mother told him when he was young. She often spoke fondly of her homeland, though none of her tales of a childhood spent in the colorful lands of the Far East helped him understand it from a political standpoint. And these days, Hadrian had trouble recalling her face let alone the stories she regaled him with.

All that was brushed away as they neared the dining hall, where the aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet fruits came wafting on the air. At once Hadrian was reminded of how long it’d been since his last meet, and his stomach gave a groan of complaint as it came to crave something more substantial than wine. He came into the room seeking to fix that, only for his eyes to land on Arielle taking up residence in his spot at the head of the table. Attentions flicked towards her and the man beside her before the servants noticed his presence, and immediately attended to their sovereign. As they hurried off to provide him with a fresh course, Hadrian approached the table where sat the woman he’d all but abandoned the day before.

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted her, trying not to sound quite as gruff as he felt. “You must forgive me my absence yesterday,” Hadrian went on, sounding casual as could be, “Time got away from me, and before I knew it the sun had set and I missed our chance at tea…” That said little for what he’d chosen to do once night fell, but he didn’t make mention of that. “I’ll have to make it up to you some time. Today I was hoping we might find the time to solidify our travel plans…”

Though in the meantime, his regard swapped to her burly companion, noting the way Arielle had relieved the man of his wine goblet… as well as the fact she’d already drained her own. Perhaps she was more bitter over his absence than he expected. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, or if she seemed just a tad bit more rigid than her usual, relaxed self around him. “I don’t believe I’ve met your guest,” he said of Morteus, deciding to take the seat nearest to his bride rather than test her further by demanding she remove herself from his. In truth, he’d already heard plenty about the man she’d brought along with her; courtesy of the same men who’d been watching Arielle from the moment she slunk past his borders. But he gave her the chance to introduce him in full, all the while wondering what she’d gleaned of his whereabouts last night…
 
Stormy blue and forest green orbs tracked the sudden rush of neutral toned cloth as servants scurried about the table as the doors to the dining space were pulled open to reveal their sovereign. Yet, bi-coloured eyes never once met the brilliant colour of the regent, nor did they move in his direction. It appeared, to all, that Arielle was simply ignoring his presence as she leaned to one side and tossed only one leg over the armrest of the high-back chair. If she were to sit in his seat for a reason none other than to prove a point of his late arrival, then she might as well make good use of it. Arielle wondered whether it would grate on his nerves, to have his seat of power taken from him so early in the morning; as if he need only be absent for one night before she’d make her move for power. Well deserved too, she considered, since he did nothing but bury himself between the wet thighs of some whore.

Copper hair was swept up loosely still, never having been loosened after her early morning run, though tendrils and wisps fell wildly about her face; never to be tamed. Tan riding pants had been traded for tailored black trousers, hugged closely to her shape. In fact, she was dressed entirely in black, including the dark smudge of kohl around her lash line. Arielle very well could have been attending both a funeral and a battle planning; considering the fit of her clothes and the lack of flesh she had chosen to leave unexposed. Feet, however, were left bare and one was left to dangle over the armrest closest to the seat Hadrian moved towards, her lean in the way of the man beside her. His questions fell on seemingly deaf ears, earning no response from the redhead as she tilted her head back against the wood, her face towards ceiling, as she closed those stormy eyes.

Arielle was furious, and Hadrian would be an even greater fool if he did not realise such a fact already.

“You already know my name,” Morteus cleared his throat after swallowing the pulp of the strawberry he’d stabbed from his plate. Voice was deep and gruff, not entirely pleasant but certainly demanding whatever attention could be spared. He, too, didn’t look at the young man he deemed ‘boy King’, as the fork ground against the porcelain of the plate as he stabbed a blueberry quite viciously. Those steel grey eyes, however, rose in a glance at the man opposite who called himself ruler, before his attention moved over to the redhead who seemed to be attempting to meditate her fury away. “And if you’re asking just to be polite, then your manners are wasted with me. I don’t fuck about and I don’t play with small talk and petty niceties; those are for simple minded folk who’d rather pussyfoot around with words and politics.” Blueberry was pressed between set of incisors, squished and releasing purple juice across lips before it, too was swallowed and another was butchered on the plate. “My stance is well known to you, if your men have been doing their homework, and I’m not going to kiss your ass just because of this deal you two have struck. Whether I agree or not, I’ll stick by Ari; which is more than I can say for the likes of you.” Steel blue eyes rose and lingered on the young King’s face, the look both pointed and bitter, almost a warning before it slowly peeled away to look, once more, down at his plate.

“Speaking of which,” Arielle purred, her tone poisonous; no warmth lacing her words at all as she kept those bright eyes closed, “does the whorehouse charge a fee when their regent visits, or is there a long standing deal between the Royal bloodline and the whores of this city?” Lashes fluttered apart, revealing dark colours that were several shades deeper than their usual, though her glance across at Hadrian lasted the briefest of moments. “Your back must be so incredibly sore, from carrying the weight of this kingdom. I’m glad to know that you were able to find some time last night to escape, perhaps even several eager sets of hands to knead the knots from your shoulders. How difficult, it must be, to remember plans when your mind is groggy with tactics and ledgers. I suppose one shouldn’t expect a man so busy to remember something as trivial as tea.”

Cream fingers clasped at the stem of the goblet, swirling inky liquid around the inside as her gaze fell into the crimson pool. She’d need more than just two glasses of wine. She might even need some mead. Whatever it was that she needed, the cut to the side of her face that ran the length of her cheekbone had not been enough the night prior to snap her out of brewing anger and grief; a toxic mix. It was thin in nature, unlikely to scar, but it was raised and red; a stark contrast to the mottled bruise that settled on the underside of her jaw. If Hadrian cared at all, there was no need for concern. Arielle had done a much worse number on Morteus after the uppercut he slogged into her chin.

Morteus, with hair the colour of salt and pepper with a scrabble of beard to match, raised his eyes from his plate of fruits he’d carefully selected to look across the wide table at the young monarch. A dark brow crooked as he contemplated the reason behind Arielle’s rather sour mood. She was not one to share; whether that be weapons, men or secrets. What was hers, was hers only, and she did not take lightly to those who attempted to steal. If memory served the brutish man correctly, Arielle’s last wayward lover ended up staked to an oak tree with several chains far up in North’s brutal winter, after he’d begun an affair with one of the ladies in Hadrian’s court, who announced herself pregnant several weeks later. A traitor, a promiscuous one at that. That had been five years prior, and Arielle was not known to have taken a fancy to someone since; as if her heart had been blackened by the infidelity and the sly, traitorous activity. Morteus had never particularly considered Arielle cruel, her punishments had always been regarded as fair among their people; though she certainly wasn’t one to forgive something, or someone, so easily, not even when it was the King who spoke of making it up to her some way or another. Morteus knew Arielle’s mind well, and knew that she considered the only thing possible to redeem the King would be for him to leave her the fuck alone. The deal would be done, but there would be no warmth between them.

“You must be a man of simple taste then, if southern whores capture your fancy,” Morteus growled rather flatly, his alliance quite obvious as he left the rest of what he was to say unspoken. Especially if you’d rather drive your cock into some diseased flesh when something as wild as this was willing to be tamed last night. “I would have thought you’d have more....class.” Class. Intuition. Intelligence. It all meant the same but none of it mattered. The fool had taken his attentions elsewhere, that much was clear from the confident, though cold, tone of Arielle’s voice. What a fool Hadrian was to scorn the woman he’d find himself bound to so very soon. In just one night, the young regent had ensured the rest of his married life would be complete and utter hell. Morteus, leaning forward, pushed a silver plate of bread over to the King, motioning to it with his speared blueberry as he took his seat again. “You best be eating something, you look like shit and the North will have you for breakfast should it find you weak.”

The chair groaned under Arielle as she shifted her weight just a fraction, twisting the narrow of her waist to ensure that Hadrian was only given half her face. He didn’t deserve her attention, he wasn’t worthy of it, not when she’d loyally and dutifully warmed his solar and his bed the entire night only to find him leaving the whorehouse the very same morning. “The North will eat any it deems unworthy, no matter whether they’re strong or weak. Though, it is the frail and the gaunt that tend to die first. He’s right, Hadrian,” his name was said with an edge of frost, her voice vacant of any warmth they’d begun to develop, “you should consume something other than wine.” Milky hand brought her goblet to her lips, draining it completely before it was set loudly down upon the table between the two men. A strawberry was plucked from Morteus’ plate as Arielle continued; “Morteus will be joining me on our travel North. I need someone that I’m able to trust, and considering all who join our small party of travellers will have the intention to protect you, I don’t doubt that somewhere along the way, someone will get it into their simple little mind to try something. I’m not taking my chances.”

Steel grey eyes bored into Hadrian’s, the gaze stern and certainly not friendly, though Morteus chose to remain silent as the tension between redhead and sovereign began to grow palpable within the room. He wouldn’t leave the dining room. It had been Hadrian who had joined them, and it would be Hadrian whom would be made to feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. Unlike the young regent, Morteus had no intention of leaving Arielle while she was in such a foul mood. She had a tendency of self destructive behaviour that was inked across the underside of her jaw in the shape of his knuckles and the thin line of red from his blade. His shoulder, however, had copped the worst from their hours long sparring session prior to nightfall; now wrapped in cloth and bandage to keep it in place. Arielle had taken great pleasure in clasping his wrist and yanking with all of her body weight to relocate the head of his humerus within its socket. Tendons were stretched and ligaments ached, his left arm would not be much use to him for the rest of the day. The pain that sparked down the limb, however, was invigorating as he rolled tense shoulder, setting a light into those cold, calculating eyes that watched Hadrian from their corners as if the King were some snake he could not trust.

“I have made my preparations already, without you,” a pointed insult that suggested Arielle had neither the time nor the need to wait for the man in order to make decisions that involved the pair of them. “I suggest that once you have made your own, that we make move. The nights are growing colder, and the risk of snow and a blizzard increase tenfold the longer we wait. I don’t doubt that you would hate the idea of becoming snowed in before we even arrive in the northern territories.” A though that didn’t bother her so much in the slightest, but she knew would vex Hadrian to no end. He was a simple man, after all, one who was relatively easy to read most of the time; he believed himself to remain seated upon the root of his power, and any amount of time spent away from that decreased whatever loyalty or chances he had at bringing peace to the Kingdom.

“Never mind that there is growing unrest up by the river,” Morteus added, before chewing the blueberry one and swallowing it rather whole. Eyes slid to the woman at his side, watching her cold face take upon an ever chillier mask. He knew, however, that it was not at his words so much, but at the idea that she would have to pass through quietly and peacefully when she was rearing for a fight.

A cupbearer peeled away from the rest, shuffling up beside Arielle with intention to fill her goblet, but cream hand freckled with caramel covered the cup. “No more for me, I’m done.” Arielle kept her gaze partially lowered, just enough that it appeared she was looking somewhere between the opposing end of the table and the silver plate before her; her mind elsewhere as the cupbearer scurried off. Finally, bi-coloured eyes as chilled as morning frost swept over to look at Hadrian, not a semblance of warmth within them. They were nothing but as cold as ice and as hard as stone; as if the pair of them had shared nothing. “Notify me when you are ready and done with your preparations. I have already given the guide a map of where we shall be first headed, and have drawn various alternative routes should something occur that I have not foreseen.” Where once she had given speeches to Hadrian with an incredulous amount of plurals and ‘we’, she was now speaking very much selfishly. “If you wish to bring one of your harlots, you’d be wise to remember the condition I first spoke of when you proposed this deal. Be inconspicuous. You did a rather poor job of it last night, though I assume you shall be smarter in your sneaking next time.” The look she shot him was toxic, poisonous to its core as her gaze levelled with his own and burned with fury and scorn. Hadrian very well may have played her the day prior, and tossed her from his room as if she were nothing, but Arielle would ensure that Hadrian felt every bit the fool. Brightly coloured eyes, however, soon peeled away from his face to look down the empty length of the table with disinterest. “If you’ll excuse us, Morteus and I were discussing tactics in order to soften the announcement to my kin.”
 
Well some things don’t change, Hadrian thought, some of the pleasantness fading from his eyes over Arielle’s stony indifference to him. This wouldn’t be the first time he upset her. She was known to hold grudges back in their youth; back in those days when they fought over much simpler concerns than the well-being of an entire kingdom. Therefore, he was no stranger to a cold shoulder, but he was surprised to find her so bitter over an unexplained absence. Perhaps she’d already deduced where he’d chosen to spend his time instead of that warm solar, made all the more inviting for her presence…

Just as loud as her displeasure were the abrasions on her face. Hadrian noted those with some interest, and he might have been concerned with her well-being if not for the cloud of anger and tension that accompanied her, making her unapproachable. And at any rate, his keen eye spotted a few recent licks her companion had taken as well, giving him a fair guess of what might have transpired between the two. Hadrian decided to pay Arielle as little heed as she gave him, his sharp green eyes locking on Morteus instead, while the man spewed a bit of his own northern ‘charm’ at their monarch.

He weathered the man’s brash tongue with a look of indifference, and was reminded of his own Shield, assuming Caius was unable to stand the sight of him. Hadrian was poised to respond at the end of the man’s little speech, but Arielle decided she had a voice after all, interrupting him before he could. So she did find out… Hadrian marveled, somewhat grated by how easily he’d been discovered. Perhaps I’m not the only one who’s been keeping eyes on the other. Or perhaps she was the sort to go skulking about in the night herself, silently keeping watch of his every move. Regardless of how she discovered his doings, the king did not shy away from her poisoned tongue or bitter anger. In fact, his eyes held no trace of guilt in their depths. He’d done nothing, wrong, after all. A bit of drunken kissing perhaps, but nothing worthy of this ire her received now. He might have told her as much, if not for the savage attitude she was so quick to regard him with.

He let her have her jokes, spit her venom, and Morteus right along with her; he took it all with a cool indifference. But he was clearly displeased, evident in the way his jaw set with annoyance. But he remained calm, leaning back in his chair, the wood groaning beneath the shifting weight, as he considered the pair of them. Eyes swapped to the plate of food Morteus pushed forward, and though ravenous when he first entered, Hadrian found that he’d rather his appetite now. Still, his gaze lingered on his bread, and suddenly, he was smiling. It wasn’t a cheerful smile, but one that was dark, and calculating.

“Ah,” he said at the end of their proclamations. For all his irritation, he sounded somewhat amused. “So that’s what’s put you in such a foul mood.” Hadrian watched Arielle with icy eyes, continuing to deny the food with his hands coming to rest upon the table instead. “In fact, I’ve got to pay like everyone else. It’s a poor policy now that I think about it. Maybe I’ll come up some sort of decree. A chance to be screwed by the king should really be its own payment.”

His normally, bright, green eyes darkened with their own storm, bringing him further and further away from explaining what actually happened in that brothel. “If I’m honest, I didn’t think you’re be so upset about it. After all, you northerners are supposed to be an open minded lot. I’ve heard you’ll fuck anyone, stranger or no, just to please your insatiable god. I can’t tell you how often I hear ‘You southerners are nothing but prudes!’ Well, who knew you’d be the puritan in the relationship?”

Hadrian’s ire was growing to match Arielle’s, especially when she declared that she’d already made the plans without him; that she’d taken it upon herself to decide their course with absolutely no regard for his own opinions on the matter. Luminous eyes burned with daring and fury as he met her fractured gaze, greeting her blue and green alike with a look of challenge. What sort of ignorant fool she must be to think she could dismiss him from any part of his own castle. “That’s some big talk for one acting so childish,” he retorted, fingers digging into the wood grain of the table he gripped. How very mature of her to lose her mind over some whore he’d never fucked. Just admit to that and make this all go away, that’s what the logical part of his brain was saying. But he wasn’t using that part of his mind right now.

“I’d be careful about making such choices going forward,” he threatened, eyes narrowing at the both of them, but smoldering on Arielle most of all. “Regardless of how you might feel about it, I stuck to my end of the bargain. You may doubt my discretion but had you seen anything at all, you’d know the truth of what happened last night.” That was as much of a confession as he planned to make. Let her riddle it out for herself if she truly wanted to. “Your end of the bargain was to do nothing without running it by me. I may fuck around with whores, but not with the future of this kingdom. Hadrian grit his teeth, anger continuing to rise over this foolish reaction of hers. “If you were so adamant about having me to yourself maybe you should have said so, instead of telling me to keep on with harlots like you couldn’t care less. Besides, if you really wanted me so bad, you would have called me on and bluff yesterday, and stayed around to fuck me while you had the chance.”

Hadrian pressed against the table, pushing himself up to his feet where he stood a moment, looming above them. “You might be waiting a while for that,” he warned her over preparations for their travel. A delay was one of the many things he wanted to discuss with her before she’d taken such a turn. Now he was especially regretting his decision to ready everything so quickly. “As you say, the night have been growing colder. Winter yet holds the north in its grip. It’s far better we wait out the snows, then perhaps consider this tour once we run no risk of stranding ourselves in a blizzard.” There was still much to think on, and it was no clear that Arielle would no longer be of any council on the matter. If she wanted solitude, fine, she could have it. If she wasn’t willing to work with him, then why risk such a dangerous, extended time away from his throne? All so she could pay some visit back home to announce a wedding she clearly had little interest in anymore?

“Enjoy your breakfast, My Lady,” he brusquely dismissed himself. Not because she asked for it, so much as he didn’t care to be in her presence a moment longer. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, however long that might be.” Then, turning his back on the both of them, he left, ignoring the hunger the brought him in the first place. He was coming to adapt Arielle’s dark mood for himself as he took his leave and stalked through the corridors of his citadel. His shield remained a not so silent shadow behind him, the clanking sword on his hip only serving to frustrate the brooding king further. Hadrian would have given anything not to be the king in that moment; to be free of constant, watchful eyes and needless worrying.

“So,” Caius began to say, looking to break the heavy silence that came to smother them as they walked, seemingly with no destination in mind, “I’m pretty sure I saw that whore you ‘fucked’ leave the room within minutes after going in. Either you’re the quickest man alive, and your bride’s not missing out on anything anyway, or your dick stayed dry as mine last night. You planning to tell her that, or…?”

“I haven’t been drinking this morning, so I suggest you hold your tongue and stay the hell out of it,” Hadrian spat, passing a sharp, sideways glance at the man who followed him. Caius met the stern look with one of his own, though fell quiet at the warning all the same. Hadrian, he had to conclude, was much more fun when he was drinking. His Shield was left coning for those days when he served a carefree prince instead of the temperamental king that marched ahead of him now. Hopefully, said king would fess up to the fact he pussed out on the whore and finally seal the deal with the girl that was working up all the frustration in the first place.

Stop fearing her sword and get to stabbing her with your own, is what he might have said, had the king not ordered him to silence.

Hadrian, meanwhile, was caught somewhere between his fury and the words of warning Auden had spoken only a short time ago. How easily he was beginning to lose himself to anger, just as his advisor brought to light. Just like with Lord Mandon, he began to regret the way he handled things with Arielle. Especially when the voice of his mother came to guilt him right along with Auden’s. ‘A good king always disregards his pride,’ he could remember her saying in those days long gone, ‘And does what’s best for the people he serves, regardless.’ But setting aside one’s pride was a much harder feat than expected, especially when it came to the girl who’d been vexing him since childhood. Why did it always have to escalate into some sort of contest with her? Maybe they’d never truly be able to work together like he hoped.

In the end, Hadrian had to decide that the best thing to do now was forget all about it and put his time towards something productive. His mind lingered on the impending tour, and he figured the least he could do was try to get ahead of this train wreck before it happened. To that end, he sought out the guide for their trip and requested the map Arielle had taken upon herself to chart without him. Once he had it, he retired back to his sitting room, this time denying the wine that robbed him of his inhibitions,and familiarized himself with the routes she’d chosen. Hadrian would have loved to find something wrong in her preparations; something he could use against her upon their next inevitable squabble, but to Arielle’s credit, she did good work. He would never know the North as well as she did, yet all the same he chose to remain unsatisfied with her planning. Even so, the only decision left to him now was whether or not that should even make this venture at all. Was it wort leaving within the next couple days and risk being stuck in the snow with his woman scorned? And a better question yet, did he truly want to spend the rest of his life bound to a woman that was ready to throw away her affections over one mistaken, misunderstood night?

Hadrian’s headache was growing worse as he considered the dilemma, and already he was regretting his choice to forgo the wine. He wanted his own solitude, but somehow he found himself feeling truly, utterly alone. With Caius standing outside the door, desolation was the only one around to give him advice. And now more than ever, he might have been able to use some. But this was no matter for discussing with his Shield, Arielle, once warm to him, was now cold as ice, Auden was all too eager to lecture and scold, and the rest of them he didn’t trust as far as he could throw. And so Hadrian kept to his solitude, quietly attending to those things he could with a quill at his desk while debating his next move.
 
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The doors to the dining room were sealed with the King’s sudden departure, leaving behind the brooding redhead and the brute seated off to her side whom continued to stab at renegade blueberries that rolled out from beneath the prongs of his fork. The silence was heavy over the room and between the two comrades, each quiet for their own reason. It was Morteus, however, who broke the quiet.

“Ari....” he began.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Dark brows were drawn together in deep displeasure at her tone and foul language that was illogically now directed at him. “Arielle,” he scolded, his tone firm and warning as he levelled steel grey eyes at her face which remained twisted in both disbelief and rage. “You seem awfully upset to have witnessed the young King leaving the brothel, considering he was once a man you hoped to usurp.” A simple observation he made as Morteus came to watch her features for that tell tale twitch of muscle in her jaw that she was deeply bothered. “Might you consider—”

“Don’t even bother, Mort,” Arielle huffed through her nose, leaning against the high back of the chair and closing eyes. “I went to him last night. Not only did I set aside my pride in order to face him after he tossed me out of the very same room that morning with nothing but blunt chill in his eyes, but I set aside my pride in admitting that there was something the matter. I went to him, and he wasn’t there, but I still waited. Seven hours, Morteus. I waited seven hours to then spot him leaving the whorehouse weary eyed and slow-paced; a man who got little rest.” Fingers smoothed over the carved ends of the armrests, thumbs sweeping over the dark wood. “I tended the fire. I brought wine, with the intention of sharing. I brought the map I spoke of just before in the hopes of planning. I waited for him, while I warmed his bed, for seven hours.”

The brutish man had never been one to soften, not even when he had seen the younger Arielle throw herself over the cooling corpse of her father. Yet, there was a look in his eye, one that spoke more than any words; one almost of understanding. Fork was held out sideways, two blueberries spiked on the prongs, as he shook it a little with encouragement. “Then perhaps you should go to him now, then.”

Arielle’s eyes bi-coloured eyes snapped open, shooting a rather poisonous glare across at her right hand man before she plucked the berries from his fork and rolled them between forefinger and thumb. “Why should I? You heard what he said. I’m a northerner, and I fuck whatever I like, I don’t discriminate. Perhaps I should go visit that brothel and find the whore who lured him to bed, and fuck her myself until she’s begging.” Morteus scowled at her, a look not of displeasure but one of doubt; not at Arielle’s open mindedness to the idea, but at the thought of her going through with something so wicked in revenge. Arielle just wasn’t the sort, not really. The look the redhead gave him back, with copper brow arched, was one of dark amusement.

“Arielle.”

“Morteus.”

They shared a look, one after the other as Arielle mimicked his chastising tone; as if she were a young thing who needed to listen to his wise advice. Moments passed before the man spoke next, choosing to pass the time in chasing a strawberry around the plate before he carefully selected his words. “You will be making a mistake should you let that argument end on that note; one that you might not be able to remedy or come back from. Is that something you want?” Steel eyes gazed into blue and green, the glimmer all-knowing as silent understanding transpired between them. “I thought not. I’ll make use of my day and will consider the rest of our preparations. You know where to find me.”

Wood groaned over hard floor, but it was not Morteus who rose to stand, but the fiery redhead who’s anger was slowly beginning to settle. Tucking a stray lock of copper hair behind pierced ear, she swiped the plate of bread loaves and discarded all except one, adding a variety of fruits and sweets upon the silver. Her goblet and the one left untouched before the space Hadrian had seated himself within were plucked from the tabletop. “I don’t expect that I’ll be needing to find you.”

The brute was left alone to enjoy his meal in relative peace.

* * *​

Arielle stood before Caius, posted ceremoniously outside the sealed wooden door that kept his master within. Rage had died to a small ember of hurt and anger, one that heated the dark pools of colour that were her piercing eyes, though it flared some as she was forced to crane her slender neck to look up at the hulking man. Narrow shoulders were rolled out and set back with an amount of confidence that seemed almost cocky, despite how she remained hovering in the hallway before the man posted as sentry. At first, she said nothing, appearing to expect the Shield to move from her way at her sudden arrival. Quickly, she realised that Caius was just as unforgiving as his master.

“I need to see Hadrian,” she growled, albeit a little coolly at needing to admit it to someone other than the man himself. “If you’d kindly step aside and—” Arielle stepped to the right, her movements countered by the bulking mass of man who moved in time with her as if he were her shadow. Eyes narrowed up at his face as she regarded Caius with growing frustration. “Must I spell everything out to everyone here? I need to see Hadrian because I’ve come to......apologise.” To some degree. To some extent. An attempt, at the very least. Whatever would transpire between King and Shield that occurred through sealed door, Arielle waited seemingly patiently until her path was unblocked as the handle finally revealed. She did not dare mutter a thanks, as she shoved open the door and kicked it closed behind her, her arms full with her collection of things.

Bare feet were silent over flooring as Arielle moved about the space of the sitting room like a sylph. The air was chilled to a certain degree that rose goosebumps along the bare flesh of her collarbones as she grew to stand a fair distance from Hadrian and set down the pair of goblets she’d brought in her venture up from the dining room. “You are a remarkably easy man to find if one looks hard enough. I’d even go as far as calling you predictable.” Arielle shifted towards him, standing just a foot away as she held out the plate that contained an assortment of foods. “You need to eat, Hadrian. You’re wasting away consuming only wine and Morteus was right, I’m afraid, you look like shit and the North will have you for breakfast.”

Whether Hadrian took the plate held out to him or not, he would find himself in possession; it either taken in hand or set atop his lap when left ignored. The bottle of mead she had tucked up under her arm was set down on the table, the cork yanked from the glass neck and set aside as she began to fill each goblet with only a drizzle; a clear attempt to limit his early morning alcoholic consumption. Only then did Arielle settle down into the chair just off to the side from him, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as she leaned into the back and clasped the goblet in hand.

“I visited your chambers last night, Hadrian,” Arielle confessed, her tone still edged with something bitter but far from the hostile sharpness it had previously been. “I stoked the fire, I warmed your bed, I brought wine that I polished off myself in the hours I stayed waiting for you in the hopes of being able to confide in you and find comfort. I thought that, perhaps, you were attending to some business that had pulled you from your quarters, that you’d likely return in an hour or two and wouldn’t mind my company. I wasn’t able to sleep, you see, because what was said and what occurred during the meeting earlier in the day still haunted me, and continues to do so even now. I declined your offer to discuss how I felt immediately after because I didn’t know what to make of it, but I sought you last night to do just that. I thought that you might have been making preparations, and that you’d simply lost track of time. I gave up when the sky began to grow light, when I finally realised that you were not coming back and that you had found rest elsewhere.”

Golden goblet was held by the stem, her knuckles white in the tight grip as she ran thumb over polished metal in order to distract the sharp pain of rejection that clenched at her heart. It stung, there was no doubt about it, and it was obvious how much it hurt by the slight frown in her brows. “You can imagine the sting to my pride when I leave in the early morning to run through the city in order to clear my mind after I wasn’t able to do so with you, only to see you leaving the brothel with your Shield in tow. I came to you last night, Hadrian.” Ocean blue and spring green eyes glanced across at him, dull with a sadness that lingered there, a droplet of anger still residing. “I came to you because I needed help, and you chose to be between the thighs of a whore, instead.”

Eyes peeled away, anger beginning to bubble in her throat the longer she looked across at him and at his own anger that boiled in the depth of his eyes. “I know that I had told you that you could keep your harlots and whores; I remember what I said. That does not mean that it hurts any less that I waited several hours in the hopes of finding solace with you, when you’d been finding euphoria elsewhere, Hadrian. Perhaps that means I’m far more invested in this than I should be. Perhaps this deal has made me weak. You were clear when you ordered me out of your room that morning that I was not and am not something you are interested in. Perhaps I should have remained behind after you tossed me from your chambers, to ‘fuck you while I could’. But I saw no reason to stoop as low to force something upon a man who clearly didn’t wish for it.” Goblet rolled between forefinger and thumb; an attempt at distraction from the hurt that boiled the back of her throat. Yes, it seemed that Arielle was far too invested in this deal than she ought to be.

“In truth,” Arielle sighed, closing eyes as lashes brushed the tops of her freckled cheeks, “I do not know what else to tell you, Hadrian. I am sorry, I suppose, for becoming so furious over something I’d specifically told you would not bother me. Though,” eyes opened as she looked across at Hadrian sharply, “for the record, not all Northerners fuck everything that moves and those who do are few and far between.” Goblet was lifted to lips, running the seam of soft tiers before she took a slow sip and looked away from the cold features of his face. “You have made it very clear where it is that I stand with you, and I certainly will not forget it again. This deal is something the Kingdom needs, and I will keep myself from hoping that it could be something that the pair of us also require. You and I will simply remain acquaintances.” Seven hells, how her heart stung in that admission. Eyes shifted to the map before him. “Shall we go over the routes I selected, then, while waiting for you? I needed something to fill those seven long hours.”
 
Caius stood as an impervious wall once Arielle deigned to show herself. Hadrian was in a bad enough mood from their last encounter, and he wasn’t overly fond of the idea of the king falling into a worse one. But more than that, he was feeling bold enough to test this northerner’s fury himself. It was as much for amusement as it was duty when the Shield moved to block her, mirroring her steps. Though, the stony expression on his face said he was anything but amused.

“And what makes you think he wants to see you?” He challenged her demands. Until she was queen he had no reason to serve her interests; and at this rate, who could say if they’d even make it to the altar? But Arielle seemed determined to correct that course, what with the girl revealing she’d come to apologize. Caius stood there a moment, silent and doubting, but couldn’t very well derail his king’s efforts in ending this long war. But nor was he intent on being the Shield that let every threat pass him by. Eyes narrowed bitterly at the woman as he considered his options.

“Wait here,” he finally decided before slipping through the door to speak with the King himself.

Hadrian remained at his desk, where he kept a single candle burning for some additional light. Before him remained Arielle’s map of routes through the northern territories, as well as a mess of other papers; letters, Caius realized, as he came forward and saw the drying ink on a couple of the messages the king had already written. The scribble of his quill was the only sound as he worked on another, but even that fell silent at the intrusion of his Shield. Hadrian looked up from his parchment with mild annoyance, sea-foam eyes burning into the man.

“What is it?” He grumbled, “I’ve got work to do.”

“Your future queen requests an audience,” Caius told him simply, leaving it to Arielle to explain why she’d come.

Hadrian scoffed at that, immediately turning back to his letter once he realized it wasn’t some dire circumstance. Caius was left to wait for an answer while the king fell silent, the scratch of quill on paper filling the room once more. He debated whether he wanted to see her again; they’d spoken plenty in back in the feast hall and none of it had been pleasant. He wasn’t in the mood for yet more arguing. But he also knew sending her away wouldn’t help the issue. If anything, it would just make their next, inevitable argument all the worse.

“Let her in,” he relented, glowering down at the letter he was writing. It was one of the many he had to pen; notices to the lords of his kingdom that their sovereign would soon be coming. They would not be sent until he was certain of the timing for this royal tour, but it was one more thing out of the way. Normally he would have seen his Royal Secretary assigned to such a task, but in the delicate matter of his decision to marry Arielle, Hadrian decided it was best to personally attend to every aspect he could. He remained fully devoted to the chore, refusing to look up even as Caius stepped back out and permitted her to come shoving through.

Her comments of predictability seemed to fall on deaf ears, though inwardly Hadrian considered that if it were true, she wouldn’t have spent the whole night waiting in his solar. Her peace offering of food was equally ignored, at least until it became obvious she would not give up in the attempt. Only then did he set down his quill and accept the tray from her, all without meeting her eyes or uttering a word. And no sooner than it was in hand did he put it aside, leaving it untouched. A quick few dabs of his quill to the inkwell, and he went right back to task. His curtain of black hair shadowed his face while he leaned over the desk, all but oblivious to her pouring the mead then sinking into the chair next to him with goblet in hand. She’d obviously come to say something, so he had no interest or comment until he knew what that was.

Arielle told him soon enough, revealing nothing he didn’t already know about her time in his chambers. Until of course, she confessed why she’d chosen to visit last night. The king divided his attention, listening to everything she said while scribbling down the same words he’d written at the end of all the other letters. The bitter edge in her voice stung once he realized her intentions. Deep in his drink as he was, it was easy to forget about the hurt in her eyes when she’d left the council room. And with how quickly she dismissed the idea of confiding in him, he never expected she would attempt to do just that. It was now an uncertainty of what he should say that silenced Hadrian, rather than his own brooding mood. At last, he looked up from his work to meet her eyes for a moment. His anger was still there, but perhaps a touch of something softer as well. As she brought up the incident of yesterday morning, though, he eventually had to shy away from her gaze again.

With his letter finished, Hadrian read the scroll and, finding his words satisfactory, rolled it up tight. After that he reached for the candle, which he carefully tipped, allowing the maroon wax to drip down On the rolled parchment and form a seal. Lastly he pressed his stamp into the warm candle wax, leaving the impression of his royal family’s crest. Hadrian seemed uncaring, what with the way he casually tended to his chore, but in truth he was struck by the fact Arielle was hoping for more than a casual alliance. Perhaps he was a fool for thinking her interest would only come from a political stand point, but Hadrian didn’t believe she would come to have such emotional investment. After all, why tell him to enjoy his whores if this wasn’t just business? Suddenly, all that teasing and taunting she’d been doing didn’t feel like the game he took it to be. He could have interjected there, but Hadrian remained painfully quiet, letting Arielle say her fill while giving his anger the opportunity to ebb away with her words.

At the end of it all, Hadrian sat back, reflecting on what she told him with the bitter taste of guilt filling his mouth. He decided to counter that by finally taking an interest in the food. Reaching out, he lazily plucked a strawberry from the plate, then relaxed back into his chair, considering the plump fruit pressed between his fingers. What to tell her? What to say?

“Perhaps I’m the one who should be apologizing...” he said at last, eyes flicking from the strawberry to the woman at his side. “I spoke out of turn... Out of anger, when I said that,” Hadrian explained of the comment about the northerners. “And worse yet, in regards to ‘where you stand with me’, I’m afraid I haven’t been clear at all.”

Pausing, Hadrian lifted the strawberry to his lips and took a delicate bite. He savored the sweet fruit, eyes refusing to meet Arielle’s while he chewed over his words as well as the treat. He took his time before fessing up, devouring the strawberry in whole, and setting aside the remnants of its leafy vine before speaking again. “I was absolutely interested in you yesterday,” he admitted freely, once more meeting her gaze as to show the truth with which he spoke. “There’s a chemistry that’s always been there, I think. It’s part of why I believed this marriage might work. And of course, if we’re to spend the rest of our lives together I would hope for something more than just... simple acquaintances.” Once again, his attention fled her face, his eyes falling back to the plate of food that sat before him. He nabbed another strawberry from the bounty, only to roll it through his fingers.

“Despite that, I hesitate at the thought,” he continued on, mindlessly playing with his food. “I find myself caught between memories of our carefree days beneath this roof, and those spent doing whatever we could to hurt one another. The last thing I want is for our marriage to be a continuation of that. But we’ve spent so much time fighting now, and I can’t just switch it off as easily as I hoped.”

Hadrian sighed with the frustration of it all, chair groaning as he leaned back, stretching his legs out much like the woman at his side. Once again he silenced himself with a large bite out of the juicy strawberry, the food already helping to improve his sour mood. “I admit,” he began, yet savoring the taste of the strawberry on his tongue, “I went to that brothel with every intention of losing myself between the thighs of a whore; of using her to forget all about you and all the other shit I have to deal with on a daily basis. If it’s any consolation, I found anything but euphoria. I couldn’t even do it.” His tone took on a bitter note, his eyes rolling up to scan the vaulted ceiling above them as he brooded over the incident last night. “I kept thinking of you, and the way I shot you down for some wench...” He scoffed, something of a bitter laugh at himself for having ever made that choice to begin with. “In the end I ended up sleeping alone, on the floor of a whorehouse. I can’t tell you how eager I am for a bath tonight.”

Though, worse yet was the sore back and neck he’d earned in the process. Even now he rolled his shoulders and massaged the side side of his neck, trying to work out some of the tension that built up. But that was nothing compared to his mounting appetite, which was rapidly coming back now that he whet it. He broke off a chunk of the bread loaf she’d brought him, and wordlessly chewed on it while he giving her chance to absorb everything he was saying. The dry bread had him craving a drink after that, leaving him to retrieve his goblet and chase it down with the mead. Like Arielle, he was not sure of what else he could tell her but sorry.

“You must forgive me,” Hadrian said, meeting her eyes. “I am new to all this. Believe it or not, I’ve never asked an enemy to take my hand in marriage before. I’m afraid I don’t know the proper etiquette.” A wry smile touched his lips. “But that is little excuse. I knew the sort of state you were in when you took leave those chambers. But with how quickly you left, well...” Hadrian shrugged his shoulders, “I didn’t think you would want to confide in me anyway. Especially after the way I rejected you that morning.”

Hadrian’s regard fell back to the large map on the table, his eyes scanning the marked routes as he recalled he offer. “As for our trip... I see no reason to honestly. I can’t find anything wrong with your preparations. Your time was well spent last night. But...” And here he paused, feeling himself torn with indecision. “I have to wonder if it’s not better that we call it off for now. Just for a few weeks; until we’re certain the snows won’t be a problem. You spoke true earlier; we run the risk of being stranded if we go now, and given the state of the King’s council at the moment, I’m not sure it’s wise to leave yet. What good are our attempts to restore Eirlea if it all comes crashing down in our absence?”

Hadrian swept his goblet up to his lips and took another sip before letting the cup rest, stem between his fingers. “You know the North better than I do,” he confessed, green eyes lingering on Arielle. “What do you think?”
 
The silence seemed to linger over them like a dense blanket of fog; a mist that was surely palpable and just as equally uncomfortable. Arielle’s discomfort was obvious in her movements; the way that she shifted in the chair from sit-bone to sit-bone and ran a hand up the length of opposing arm. Yet, she didn’t dare speak again, not when she had nothing left to say. It was partly in stubbornness, a refusal to be the first to acknowledge her out-of-character though very sincere apology, but it was also partly because Arielle did not wish to fill the space between them with uncomfortable small talk that would only allow a seed of distance to grow between them. Should Hadrian wish for someone else other than her to enjoy the long hours of the night within, then so be it. It was a political marriage that Arielle had agreed to; nothing more and nothing less. While she’d surprised herself in how easily she’d been swayed, it had also been brought to her attention that perhaps her brutal pursuit of his crown in order to usurp him and destroy the monarchy had been, in fact, not needed.

What if, she had thought to herself during the seven hours of the early morning she’d spent curled in the centre of his bed, I only assisted in this Kingdom remaining poverty-stricken when it’s King was desperately trying to piece it back together after all that his father had done? What if I was only exacerbating the problem that I was sure stemmed from him and his kin? What if the fight for my cause only made things so much more worse?

They had been thoughts that did not sit well with her, that made her twist and turn and unable to find rest when she attempted to close her eyes. A realisation, whether it was one that was good or bad, was never particularly easy to make when it was based on self-reflection; especially when one realised that she very well may have been the majority of the issue. There was no doubt, she knew, that Eirlea and its treatment of the North needed to change, but perhaps she had only been driving a wedge between her people and progress during the onslaught against the King that she now knew to be at his wits ends.

Bi-coloured eyes did not leave his face, her gaze having settled upon the hardened features of his face as she assessed the depth to the hollow of his cheeks. Hadrian wasn’t unwell looking, despite how gaunt his cheekbones may have appeared, but he looked like a man that was running on very little and had only a thread between him and his breaking point. How much further would he be able to survive? How much longer before he, too, would break just like his father? The death of the late Queen had been enough to send an already harsh man into a spiral towards brutality. While Hadrian did not have the same seed of wickedness within him, would the weight of the crown forge it inside him just as pressure would a diamond? How long before he would break and become something that Arielle could not recognise?

Hypothetical, she had to remind herself. These questions are all hypothetical and there’s not a shred of evidence to suggest such a thing. I’m not in the North, the wind doesn’t whisper fates here. I’ll just have to make do.

When Hadrian first spoke, however, and suggested that perhaps it was him that should be apologising, legs were drawn inwards as Arielle clasped the armrests of the chair, hitching herself upwards into the air as she folded long limbs beneath her. Spine straightened, her waist twisted in the centre as she half-turned towards him in keen interest. Hadrian didn’t seem as if he were about to brush her off, not the way that she had expected from him. Yet, still, she said nothing; choosing to remain silent as she patiently listened to whatever Hadrian would allow her to hear, a peek into his internal musings.

I came back to you, she wanted to say, even after you threw me from your solar and rejected me terribly with that cold look in your eyes that chilled me to the bone. I came back to you, and you could have had me if you’d given in to temptation. You didn’t have to sleep alone. You didn’t have to sleep on an unclean floor and twisted your muscles into those knots. You should have just come to bed.

Eyes watched as fingers dug into the meat at his neck, the pulp at his shoulders, pressing at muscles that rippled with tension between softly sun-kissed skin. His attempt was feeble, even clumsy at best, and Arielle balled her hands into fists in her lap in attempt to keep from reaching out to soothe his growing knots. He might have been confessing his interest in her, but that did not mean Hadrian would welcome her touch; not after such a heated and bitter argument where she had accused him of what she had seen and assumed, but not known. A tendril of red hair fell into her face, brushing against caramel freckles and left to gently drift over the round of her cheek bone; ignored for the time being. Instead, one fist unfurled slowly like a blooming flower awakening after night’s frost, to reach and clasp at the stem of her goblet to bring forth the mead to her lips. It was honey sweet as it coated her tongue and slid down her throat, warming a belly that was already heated a degree or two from his earnest confession. What was that weight in the centre of her chest? Was that hope?

“In time, you will come to realise, Hadrian, that Northerners forgive easier than you are led to believe,” she murmured softly, those eyes all-knowing as they remained upon his face as goblet’s rim was dragged over the pulp of lower lip; the seam of the tiers stained crimson with wine. Arielle shifted within her seat once more, seemingly growing uncomfortable against the cushioned wood and desiring something else far warmer to be seated upon; but she remained within the confines of her own chair and did not dare to rise from within it. Not even when her eyes lowered to his knees and she contemplated sitting atop the armrest. Instead, she settled for what she deemed to be the next best thing; turning completely in the chair so that her hip bumped against the high wooden back and one armrest dug into the small of her back. She could watch him like this, the way that his features were shifting subtly with emotion and bathed in the warm glow of the candle.

Warm smile took to her lips, however small it was, her eyes taking upon an equal glow. “You have not had a bath until you have dipped into our ice baths carved straight into the lake,” Arielle spoke clearly, even as her mind wandered and imagined the heat of his bath water consuming the both of them. “Invigorates the senses and makes for the perfect beginning of any day. Something I’ll implore you to do at least once during our travels.” Eyes were drawn towards the map, her gaze settling there for a moment as she allowed the rest of his words to sit between them and linger pleasantly. Arielle did not want to ruin their meaning by replying, nor did she want to press him further on such matters. It was clear to her that Hadrian was struggling with something she could not understand, part of which included this chemistry he spoke of and she felt. “A little bird has told me that the snow is not as thick as I first imagined, and that the storms are isolated to the northern most tip of our landmass, and seem to be passing by the rest with nothing but grey clouds and chilled temperatures. They have predicted the weather for the rest of this week and the next to be most ideal, though they’re unsure of the wind patterns for the weeks after.” Vivid eyes met his own, Arielle crossing her arms and setting elbows atop armrest as she leaned forward towards Hadrian. “I would suggest that we move very soon, if we want to make do with the good weather they’re experiencing. If we hold off for a couple of weeks, I can’t say whether we’ll ever be able to tour. Patterns change without a moment’s notice the farther north we travel, and we’d best be travelling when we know it to be pleasant than to hope for it still to be so for the weeks ahead.”

As she edged closer to the armrest nearest the young King, the light caught the thin sliver of wound that decorated her otherwise unmarred cheek; a blow from Morteus that he wasn’t all too concerned about, even less so when she announced that it wouldn’t likely scar. A pretty face might have been prized down in the warm belly of the Kingdom, but within the colder climates, that culture revelled in scars and bruises and all things harsh. Arielle could not have cared less whether her face would become marred, not when a great deal of her would then be matching.

“I have told only one of my kin, the little bird, of our travels,” Arielle confessed as she slowly unfolded legs from beneath her to slowly stand and pad closer towards Hadrian. A cream finger moved to tap at the first inky dot upon their route. “I have absolutely no doubt that they would have shared the news, by now, even if I specifically requested that they remain quiet. They’re an odd sort of character; no say of what they will do. Even more unpredictable than the weather, I would say.”

It did not matter what she spoke of, for Arielle’s mind was entirely elsewhere in that moment; the warm rose to her cheeks only further evidence of her straying thoughts. She had come to stand before him, almost obscuring his view of the map entirely, with her back to him and red wisps of hair having fallen from the loose bun atop her head that restrained the copper mass. “Hadrian....” she murmured softly, turning in place to look down upon him as she curled her hands into fists at his sides. “I’m beginning to think that I have done this Kingdom a great deal of damage by misplacing my anger and seeing things that weren’t truly there. All that I ever saw in your hardened demeanour was that of your father. When the tariffs were not removed for my kin, not even when they were struck by the harshest of winters, I could have sworn that you hoped for the end of the North. That is always what it has seemed, that the gypsies that roam the tundras are looked at like second class citizens, as scum; nothing more than dirt clinging to the sole of one’s boot. I so desperately wanted to change that, to give my kin something more than their reputation, but I fear now that I’ve done something so terribly irreversible.”

Ocean blue and forest green eyes were drawn to the letters set aside on his desk, freshly stamped with the crest of his line. “I’ve taken up more of your time than I should have,” Arielle confessed, appearing a little crestfallen despite the honesty of their conversation. “You look as though you didn’t get an ounce of sleep last night on that floor. Is there something that I can do for you to make the rest of your morning easier?” Sending those letters? Stamping? Bringing you lunch and refusing you wine? Company? That tendril of red hair was finally tucked beneath pierced ear just as shoulders were rolled backwards and the tenderness that had befallen her face dissolved into her usual mischief. “I should take my leave before I begin to distract you.”
 
Hadrian could only hope Arielle’s vow of forgiveness would prove true, for soon he would be venturing into the belly of the beast. The North... he thought, reflecting on the myriad stories he’d heard of those vast, dangerous tundras. It was hard to believe he would soon be trekking across that frozen desert himself. It was a sobering thought to consider their brothers to the north would soon be among his subjects, once again brothers and sisters of an Eirlea forged whole. Forgiving or not, he couldn’t help but think they would not all be so happy and accepting of that as Arielle.

“I hope you’re right about that,” he said, the soft pad of a thumb idly brushing across the rim of his goblet while he stared down at the dark liquid held within. “The sins of my father require no lack of forgiveness, and I’m the only one left to answer for them.” He knew full well the late King’s death was far from enough to settle that debt. The loss of one ruler meant very little when another would rise to take his place. The crown would live on, an everlasting monument to the authority they’d come to despise.

But there’s no king to take my place should I perish like my father... That realization haunted him from the day he first sat the throne. One last regicide is all it would take for the line of true kings to come to a bloody end. How the northerners must salivate at the idea... Well, angry rebels or not, he had no intentions of meeting such an untimely end. If they had any wit they would stay their blades and celebrate the fact that the ruler to come would share in the blood of the North. Assuming he and Arielle could make it that far, their future children would be true sons and daughters of Eirlea.

But Arielle was proving that at least one of them had it in them to forgive. Hadrian was surprised to see her mood turning so quickly. Perhaps she was not quite as childish as he presumed. The Arielle he knew when they were younger probably wouldn’t have spoken to him for at least another couple of days. He watched as she shifted about in the chair and sat as un-lady-like as ever. There was some warmth in his eyes as he remembered the days she spent living here, when the handmaidens would fuss over the young girl, trying to get her to use the furniture as intended even back then.

Hadrian quirked a brow at the mention of ice baths. “It sounds like a proper way to freeze your balls off as well,” he mused, trying to picture the frigid plunge she described. Though, playful humor was put aside once their impending travels were brought up again. Hadrian remained very much doubtful, even as she assured him the wintery terrain be favorable for travel. The debate was written clear on his face as he tensed in the fine, leather back chair, the fingers of his right hand drumming across the wide, rounded edge of the armrest. Everything was ready, all their preparations seen to. But was it worth the risk?

Then King was still considering it when Arielle confesses she’d sent word to at least one of her northern brethren. He turned to her, bright eyes drinking in her movements as she rose from the seat and stepped to the map. Hadrian straightened in his seat as she grew near, her lingering aroma of rose and cinnamon pleasantly assailing him. She tried bringing his attention to the map but it remained on the woman herself, his gaze almost greedy in the way it kept her. He glanced the abrasions on her face, wondering if that tantalizing body of hers was colored with equal treatment. Caius was right; Arielle was a Warrior, and no doubt if he relieved her of those clothes, he would find a masterful painting of brutality that would put his sore, purplish knuckles to shame.

“Well at least they’ll have some time to mull over it,” Hadrian suggested of the info her loose-tongued kin would have slipped. He tore his eyes away from her beautiful, red haired visiage, and lifted the cup of mead to his lips, sipping at the honey sweet mead. He savored the taste, flavors popping on his tongue while the warmth crept down his gullet. “I don’t trust half of my councilors to keep this to themselves either. The reason these men hold their positions is because they know how to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. And that’s all the more reason I fret over being away for too long...” Hadrian was smart enough to keep insurances for such events, but it still made him nervous.

However, Arielle also made good points. The north was never predictable, weather or otherwise. That’s why the people there were hardy and strong; they had to be to survive. He could wait it out as long as he liked and there would never be a guarantee of safe travel. Yet, he also knew if they waited long enough, the weather would eventually grow more temperate and agreeable. The question was, would their potential alliance survive that long? He was on the verge of arguing further, but Hadrian sucked in his lower lip and stopped himself. They’d only just begun making amends; he didn’t want to reopen that avenue so soon.

“So be it,” he finally decided, meeting Arielle’s bicolored eyes. “I will defer to your judgement. As it happens I’ve already made preparations for transport, provisions, and protection. Everything should be ready on the morrow. I would suggest we leave the day after that. In the meantime I will do what I can to patch our broken council...” Speaking to Lord Mandon would be first and foremost. Hadrian would give the minister this one chance to rectify their distasteful encounter before finding someone else to fill the role. “Would I be correct in assuming your charming fellow from breakfast is our new head of the guard?” Hadrian plucked a blueberry his plate after getting the confirmation. “I suppose that seat will have to remain vacant for the moment, then.” He couldn’t very well leave his Shield behind whilst making his most dangerous undertaking yet. “He may be formally inducted upon our return. For now I’ll have Auden to keep things running smooth. If there was ever a man I can count on, it’s him.”

Hadrian popped the blueberry into his mouth, thoughts wandering as he considered the adventure they would soon partake in. Even with his misgivings there was a tendril of excitement sparking through his veins. How long had it been since he last left the capital? Since he’d visited the wilds of the huge world beyond the city walls? But while his mind turned to the future, Arielle’s appeared to still be lost in the bitter past. He stared up into her earnest eyes, looking upon her precious, bruised face while she made a confession most unexpected. He silently chewed his fruit, weighing the things she said in his mind. Her words struck harder than she realized, for there was a brief time at the start of all this when he truly did feel that way. After finding the mantle of king so suddenly thrust upon his shoulders, Hadrian’s first instinct was to follow the lead of the only example he’d ever known. Especially when those surrounding him tended to sympathize with the feelings of the king that came before.

“It’s no secret that many in the South feel as such...” Hadrian said, his voice flat as he considered the resentment that persisted between their subjects. “People tend to fear or despise that which they don’t understand. Even I’ve been guilty of it on occasion... But I opened my eyes like my father proved he never could. You may live different lives than us, but that doesn’t make you inferior. Just different.” So different, in fact, that it was hard to believe north and south had stood as two halves of the same kingdom in the past. Regardless, they were all one people. It was his hope that the rest of Eirlea would come to accept that fact as well. Hopefully before completely drowning the kingdom in the blood of her own people.

Hadrian frowned, then pushed up from his chair, coming to stand with Arielle before she could wallow in the pity of past mistakes. Reaching out, he took her by the shoulders, hands squeezing gently while keeping her gaze focused on his vivid eyes. “Perish that thought,” he told her. “This war is no fault of yours nor mine. We didn’t start this fight, we inherited it from men that were too stubborn to set aside their differences. All that matters now is that we’re taking the steps towards peace that they never could.”

Hadrian convinced himself they were going to be better than their forebears. Weren’t they already proving that? Here they stood, amending their argument instead of starting a war over it. Just stay the course, he encouraged himself, and everything will turn out fine. Or it would all collapse into ruinous conflict once again... who could say really? But he tried to stay optimistic. For now at least.Hadrian’s hands slid from her shoulder, down her slender arms when Arielle suggested she take her leave. But not before proposing to take some of the stress away from his morning. As his eyes wandered the smooth planes of her face, still beautiful despite the blemish, Hadrian could think of several ways she could help with that. Her plump lips looked as soft as rose petals, and he was willing to bet if she got creative with them he would feel all his troubles melting away in a matter of no time.

“Nothing that I can imagine,” he told her, contrary to the enticing thoughts. Hands slipped away and Hadrian took a step away, replacing some of the distance which had only just begun to close. “But there are a few couple of things I believe should be addressed before we take our leave...” The king overlooked the contents of his desk, eyes mindlessly drifting over the letters he’d yet to seal. “This situation regarding Lord Francis, for one. While I am hesitant to take any rash action, if he is guilty of foul play he must be held accountable. At the very least, a close eye must be kept on the man while we are away.” But then Hadrian fell silent, his thoughts turning back to the news Lord Auden delivered to him this morning. A sideways glance was cast towards Arielle as he considered whether the broach the topic or not. After the reaction over her mother yesterday, perhaps it was bad tact. But in the end he decided it was too important to leave unsaid.

“There’s something else I’ve been looking into...” he said, granting her his full attention. “And maybe you’d be able to help in that regard. It’s not the most comfortable subject... But I was hoping you’d be willing to tell me anything you might know about your father’s death that I don’t, and more importantly, the ones responsible.” Hadrian waited to see how she would respond to such a prospect, curious as to whether she had any knowledge over the assassinations that kept him mystified, or if digging up their painful history was a fruitless effort.
 
Arielle remained where she stood; unmoving and unblinking as Hadrian pressed wide palms into the wood of armrests to rise from his leather-backed chair to stand before her. Space had grown between them, when she had shot him down in the dining room with what she believed to be hard evidence of his night’s grand ventures. How hurt she had been when she had realised his choice, and where his preference for passing time lay. It still hurt, a small seed in comparison to the burning bonfire within her chest from before, but she had been reassured, at the very least, that he had been unable to brush her from his mind. Breath hitched and caught in her throat as warm hands settled and clasped at her narrow shoulders, his grip firm and unwavering as those soft green eyes looked down upon the features of her face. Arielle couldn’t help but wonder just how much and how well she was able to get beneath his skin.

“No need to worry about your balls, Hadrian. I won’t let them freeze off.” Perhaps not quite the line that portrayed her internal pondering, or how her toes curled into the smooth floor, but a sharp-tongued quip nonetheless. The playful smirk took hold of her soft lips, tugging the corner of her mouth upwards to reveal shallow dimple within slightly blushed cheek. It came with a certain sparkle in her eye that suggested promise. “I only have need for Morteus until we reach my kin. From there forward, he shall return here to continue his duty as Captain of the Guard and act as eyes and ears for the both of us in your absence. I will have one of my kin travel with us, to ensure that none of your men try something untoward during our journey. Regardless, they would be foolish to attempt such a thing in a land that is far less forgiving than the men who survive it. The North doesn’t take kindly to cowards who creep and cower in shadows, least of all kill one of its children.”

The way in which Arielle spoke of the lands consisting of tundra and snowscapes was as if the North were a force unto itself; one with limited sentience with the ability to avenge or forgive. To the people who dwelled farther south in their brick houses and dense cities, revelling in the warmth of spring and not seeing a day’s frost, the North was very much that; an untamed beast that was in need of taming, something to be feared. Perhaps that was were the people of the South were wrong, perhaps that was the reason behind their greatest misunderstanding. The wild people of the North understood that it was a force to be reckoned with, an entity that required respect. If one was weak and if one was cowardly, then they would be sure to perish, yet it was no fault of the North’s. It claimed the lives of the sickly, the poor, the foolish, but never the brave or sharp-witted. Respect the North and one would live.

Blue and green eyes followed his gaze over her shoulder towards the pile of bare parchment; the stack so much thicker than the bundle of those that had been sealed. It was clear that Hadrian had much to attend to, and would likely not leave this study for the next several hours in order to have the task completed. At least this time, if she decided to stoke his fire and warm his bed, she would know where he was and be correct.

“Nothing can change what has already been done. My mother was scattered into the wind many years ago, something that I quite clearly remember. There is no undoing death. I see no point in punishing something such as this,” Arielle admitted, colourful eyes remaining averted as if in attempt to conceal the pain that began to bubble. “Not all hands move freely, and not all minds act alone. I doubt that Lord Francis thought of such a thing on his own; an elaborated plot to murder my mother. Take what I say however you like, but I believe there is more to the story than what I have discovered from the ledgers.” A sigh escaped slightly parted lips, the sound fuelled by exasperation more so than relief as she continued. “The threat of my mother is gone, but now I stand in the way for what they believe is best for you and this Kingdom. He should be watched. I don’t doubt that whomever coaxed him into enacting such murderous plans all those years ago may very well try to again.” Bi-coloured eyes met Hadrian’s forest green eyes, the look within them harsh and pointed; accusatory. “I’ll have it known that I’ll deal with him myself if such an attempt is made. I merely want him watched so that we are able to completely understand the extent of the conspiracy.” I can handle myself, I don’t need to be guarded.

As Hadrian moved away from her, Arielle pressed back into the hardwood of the desk, leaning against the edge that had been rounded by age and wear. At his mention of a topic that was far from comfortable, arms clothed in dark cloth came to cross beneath the weight of her bust, edging milky flesh up towards exposed collarbones. Whatever gentleness had entered the room with her, whatever forgiveness or tenderness had come to decorate her features honestly was soon found to have evaporated; leaving behind that cool look of perpetual annoyance. A mask, Hadrian would come to learn which hide her mounting curiosity but allowed her the chance to become detached to whatever it was he was about to enquire. Her father. She should have seen it coming, a blow like this after she’d spent all night grieving the loss of her mother again; the healed wounds torn open from inside. How cruel it was to poke and prod at these matching wounds that hadn’t completely healed over.

Cruel but all the more necessary.

“You want to know what I remember about that night,” she spoke into the space between them, the air seeming to grow chilled about her; as cool as her voice that was edged sharp. “I know nothing of the murderer, I saw nothing but fluttering curtains and an opened window—though I doubt now, upon reflection, that an assassin would escape through there. All I can tell you is of how I found my father, and how I found his corpse; though I think that is what you seek.” Hand reached out, a serpent’s strike as she snatched the goblet of mead from the desk and drained it dry. “I need more mead for this,” she grumbled beneath breath as the goblet was set aside, offensive. Toned arms came to fold beneath bust once more, legs crossed at the ankles as she reclined slightly into her lean against the table. “It was midnight......”

* * *​

It was midnight, and the estate had grown silent just as the full moon had risen beyond its peak. Clouds were painted a glowing silver as they crawled over the iridescent orb that hung above the forest pines that reached towards its light with greed. A cool, southerly breeze crept between sparse trunks, collecting leaf litter and carrying bronzed foliage over fresh fallen snow; a thin blanket that would melt into puddles by morning or become frost by dawn. Hounds were tucked into balls of fur, sleeping soundly at the back step that they guarded even in slumber. A crack of a twig would rise the darkest, its eyes a steel grey; a hound that appeared more wolf than dog. Yet steel eyes found nothing as muzzle remained low on paws; not a single whisper of life besides the gentle snores of its pack mates. The hound went back to sleep.

The rooms were kept chilled, occupants preferring the brisk, cold air even as they rested peacefully and dreamt sweetly. Even in slumber, they were of the North, with fur blankets tossed down about knees in favour for a slight shiver to remind them that they still lived. A girl, on the cusp of womanhood, slept soundly tucked up onto her side with a raven’s feather clasped in loosely closed fist. A candle flickered on the oak table beside her, illuminating sleeping features and revealing old book that had fallen to the floor, open a chapter behind what had been read. The window was kept ajar, the transparent fabric catching on the breeze that licked at her caramel freckles cheeks. She slept soundly, peacefully, until she woke.

Eyes snapped open, not an ounce of sleep left within them, clear as day and shining with fear. She had heard nothing. She had felt nothing. But she had dreamt something. Heart pulled violently within small ribs, against a cage that hadn’t seen battle or devastation; not in the way it would in the years to come. Wisps of fiery hair clung to forehead with perspiration, her breaths shallow and mind dizzying. Something was wrong, but what was it? Where was it?

Pale feet were swung from beneath bear fur blanket, eyes pinned to the open window that suddenly seemed far less comforting than before. Wooden floorboards were cool underfoot, creaking once with her weight as she rose to stand; the white cotton of her nightdress falling down to her ankles to completely conceal her budding form. Reaching for the velvet gown didn’t cross her mind, her feet carrying her towards the door that she’d nailed a bolt to should there ever come a time she’d need it. Would that be tonight?

Something dark settled atop her heart, weighing it down into the pit of her belly as the girl silently meandered through her home buried farther up North and away from the clutches of her father’s enemies. They won’t find us here, her father had promised, they would not dream to follow me to this place; we are safe. But perhaps her father had underestimated their determination. Floorboard creaked again underfoot, making her draw pause outside a bedroom that had not ever been used. Out of ten rooms, they used only three and she was headed towards the second that sat up on the floor above that remained eerily silent. Stairs were taken carefully, two at a time, until she was standing before the wooden door she had never dared to press open. Her father appreciated his privacy, and she would never disrespect such a request as it ensured her own.

Yet, small ghostly hand clasped the metal knob of the handle, a breath taken deep down into lungs before it was turned and door was pressed into the room. It swung on well-oiled hinges; not a sound made to announce her arrival. Not a sound, that was, until the shrill scream of terror tore from her throat.

The corpse of her father lay beneath the window, cast in a sickeningly silver glow. Features were contorted, eyes wide open in horror, a hand half clasped about an iron dagger. But that was not what had earned her scream; she had seen death and had known that she would see her father’s. What earned her terror was the meat of pink muscle that had been tossed to the side; discarded like waste. His tongue. His throat was sawn into, sinewy cartilage and torn vasculature left exposed and oozing syrupy crimson, the pool still growing beneath him to stain hardwood floorboards.

She’d ran to her father, knelt beside his corpse, and it was that night that the war-hardened Arielle had been birthed.

* * *​

“Nothing was stolen,” Arielle continued, the muscle pulsing at the corner of her jaw. “Nothing was taken, nothing was out of place. I looked everywhere, I checked everything. I thought that maybe it had been a burglary gone wrong, but my mother’s jewellery was left within the box on the table beside his bed; just as always. The doors were locked, the hounds still asleep. There weren’t even footprints in the snow when I went to check an hour later.” The frown that had settled into her brows as she’d recounted the events deepened. “They didn’t even take his tongue for a keepsake after they went to the effort of carving it from his mouth.”

A breath escaped her, blown through her nose in growing anger; at the memory of finding her father, but not at Hadrian’s wish to have her recount the events. “I’ve been back to the house and none of it makes sense. I followed my footsteps. Yet, I still have so many questions left unanswered. Why such brutality if it were a paid crime? All that needed to be done was to kill him; not main him and brutalise his body. Why take no jewels when they were right there? Why carve out his tongue just to leave a message?” Blue and green eyes rose to meet his as Arielle scowled. “And what woke me up?”
 
The idea of an ice bath was sounding a lot warmer with Arielle was there to keep him company. No doubt she could make good on that promise, keeping every part of him heated despite the frigid waters. Hell, just the way she was looking at him could do that; confident smirk and all. Hadrian felt himself growing flush with the desire she was so adept at stirring, his eyes lost in the endless ocean blue and forest green of her own. How he wished he had it in him to be reckless, to shove all those letters and trappings off his desk and mount her upon it, letting them pick right back up from where they left off yesterday. But his hesitation remained, forming a solid wall between Hadrian and his temptations. If anything, it was all the more fortified after their argument. He could see the door was opening again; see it in the way Arielle reacted to his touch, like she longed to touch back. But it didn’t feel right anymore, even if he could drop his concerns long enough to give in. And even if their venom from earlier wasn’t enough to poison the mood, the all too serious topic of conversation was.

“The passing of time does not erase one’s wrongdoings,” Hadrian argued, though he was willing enough to reconsider the old man’s fate. “I admit, the same thought crossed my mind,” He confessed once Arielle suggested another must have orchestrated the events. And when she predicted these villains would likely resurface, and that she would handle it herself, Hadrian’s expression grew hard. “As far as Lord Francis is concerned, you’re right. The crime is against you and your family, so once again, I will defer to you regarding the justice he is to receive.” He thought to say more, to tell her she wasn’t alone in this matter, as well as chastise her for trying to isolate herself in the first place, but chose not to. I can’t submit to her every whim each time we argue, he told himself, aware of how amenable he was being. But who was he to command her otherwise when they weren’t even married yet?

“They wouldn’t dare,” Hadrian said of his men, silently hoping it was true. After two decades of turmoil and hatred, any man could act irrational. And what better opportunity to strike at a rebel queen than when out on the open road, far from her soldiers and supporters. But Hadrian was confident it wouldn’t come to that. “Should any man try something so foolish, they won’t have to worry about the wrath of the northerners. They’ll never survive my own. They know this well. I doubt any man is stupid enough to try anything like that, no matter the hatred in their heart.”

But it was the assassination of her father Hadrian was most interested in, and the very mention of it appeared to suck the air out of the room. Green eyes watched Arielle carefully when she folded her arms; when all that warmth that came from his apology dissipated on the spot. He had to wonder if he’d made some mistake in asking her about this, but it had to be done. The only reason they even found themselves in this position, impending royal tour and wedding alike, was because someone chose to eliminate the men that came before them. Hadrian nodded when she clarified, unflinching at that sharp edge in her voice. It was disheartening to learn she knew nothing of the killer, though in truth he already expected as much. A man intelligent enough to kill the leader of a rebel army wasn’t likely to be caught in the act.

Still, he listened intently to her story, eyes sympathetic while she spoke of the night her world came crashing down. How curious that she’d been torn from slumber just as it happened. Perhaps she heard the commotion? Or was this another example of her ‘Waking’ dreams? Whatever the case, it was quickly forgotten once she described the scene upon entering her father’s room; upon seeing his freshly slain corpse. The brutality of it all... Hadrian could scarcely imagine how she felt in that moment. He’d been present when his mother died, saw the light fade from her eyes and knew that she was gone, but it was something he knew was coming. Her failing health prepared him ahead of time, even if it was one of the hardest moments of his life. He did not, however, have the misfortune of being the first to discover his father’s body. And even then, Leander had not been desecrated in the way that Ariel’s father had. To find the man who raised you in such a state...

Hadrian did not know what to say about it, or indeed if he should say anything at all. Years had passed since that day; if they hadn’t come to terms with their loss by now, no amount of words would ever help. Soft, green eyes looked elsewhere while the king retrieved his goblet and swallowed a mouthful of mead. All the while, he reflected on her father’s untimely fate. For most, the first culprit to come to mind would probably be Leander Aldrich, and likely no few number still believed that could be true. But any chance of that being the case was ripped from Hadrian’s mind when his own father met the same fate just a few short days later. But he had about as many answers as she did as to why this happened. His sea foam gaze focused on her once again when she explained how the assassin disappeared without a trace, not so much as a footprint left in the new layer of wet snow.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said to Arielle. Goblet still in hand, he stepped over to lean against the table as well, taking a place beside her. Any other words of comfort were lost to him. He merely looked down at the remnants of his drink, pondering the last few sips in silent agreement that they should have more mead for this. But after yesterday’s debacle he was also glad they didn’t. He took another quick sip before shrugging his shoulders at Arielle’s search for the meaning behind it all. “I can’t say for sure,” he admitted. “As for what woke you... You said your father had a dagger in his hand? Perhaps you heard the struggle?” It seemed a paltry excuse considering how far apart her room was from her father’s. Especially when the hounds and everyone else remained sound asleep. But it was the most practical thing he could think of without turning to her northern superstitions. Though, somehow, his mind still turned that way, and suddenly he was contemplating everything she said yesterday; all that about silver men and, especially after her latest story, serpent tongues.

“The man with the serpent tongue...” he started to mutter, though quickly silenced himself before trying to connect the cryptic words with the tragic way her father died. Still, he couldn’t stop the intrigue. “A message can be important if the right person hears it,” he told her instead. “Perhaps your father was saying things someone didn’t like, and decided to send a message to anyone who shared with his ideals. Maybe someone in particular... But, I guess that could describe half of the country.” The other half felt the same way about the man’s rival; Hadrian’s own father who was silenced just as efficiently, if not quite as brutally.

“You should know...” Hadrian began to say, gaze pointed at the floor, locked on their dark shadows cast by the flickering candlelight, “I’ve long had suspicions that whoever killed your father must have killed mine as well. There’s a number of differences in the way they died; my father wasn’t mutilated the way yours was, for starters, but there’s a couple of similarities as well.” Thinking back on those dark memories had him shifting on the spot, though he soon brought that to a stop by swiftly throwing back the last of his mead. He let the honey flavored liquid dally on his tongue, savoring the last of it before taking it down with a hard swallow.

“I wasn’t there that night,” Hadrian admitted, recalling the eve his father died. “I’d snuck off to the arena. I always loved watching the fights... I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent tucked in those stands, heavy cloak on to hide me from any discerning eyes. My father never approved of my capers into the city; he would have seen me confined to these castle grounds until the end of my days if he could have helped it. Ever since my mother died, and your father broke faith...” Hadrian sighed, idly tilting his empty goblet this way and that. “Well after that He was always raving; jumping at shadows, seeing potential threats everywhere. He became convinced that someone was coming for him, and by proxy, me. He wanted to shelter me from that. Honestly, I’m not sure if it was because he cared about me or more so that he was worried I might be leverage for his enemies.”

Hadrian finally set his chalice back down on the table, then shifted to a more comfortable position against the hard wood of the table, and a touch closer to Arielle as well. “He ranted about it so much that I never took it seriously, but in the end he was right. No one knows how the assassin made it past the guards, though judging by your display a couple of nights ago I’m not sure what to make of that anymore. Regardless, they somehow made it all the way to the solar without alerting a soul. But whoever came to kill him must have underestimated my father’s paranoia. The man was neurotic enough to hear a spider crawling across his floor. I’m told he was able to fend his killer off long enough for his Shield to burst in and see the king’s throat cut. Ser Royce then engaged the assassin, only to meet the same fate. The other guards arrived but moments later, only to find both men dead on the floor. And absolutely no trace of their killer.”

Hadrian was struck with the memory of returning to the castle that night. He’d been walking down the cobblestone streets, skies dark and pelting the earth with fat pellets of rain as though mourning the tragedy he was yet unaware of. He couldn’t have cared less about the poor weather, for his head was practically floating in the clouds after all the ale he’d consumed. Caius strolled behind him, much gruffer in those early days of service to the crown prince. They were only half way back to the castle when came a most sobering sound. It came from the belfry of the great citadel watching over the sleeping city; the thundering of bells whose toll brought news too awful to believe. Hadrian remembered taking off for home with all his speed, the rain stinging his face. Between the adrenaline and the spirits he’d drowned himself in, things were hard to remember after that. He recalled frantically arguing with the guards who tried to bar him from entering the castle grounds, and the disbelief when they tried to explain what happened. But he’d never forget that moment of standing on the solar and seeing those two, deadly still shapes on the floor. Blankets covered the lifeless forms that lay there, but Hadrian wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw it with his own eyes. Shaking hands had pulled back the horror of meeting the lifeless eyes of a parent for the second time. Instead, it seemed like his father were merely sleeping; eyelids respectively closed by his servants. Hands were brought to clasp at his chest, clutching around the sword that failed to keep him alive. But for all their pampering, there was nothing to hide the crimson-stained slice that adorned his pale from from ear to ear.

Hadrian cleared his throat, trying to forget the thought of seeing the king lying cold and lifeless on the floor. “It could be that he wasn’t maimed fashion because his killer didn’t have the time; who can say for sure? What I’m more curious about is how an assassin managed to kill a king and his shield at the very crest of this castle, then disappear from it without a single trace. You’ve seen the King’s Solar; there’s no way in or out aside from the stairs.” Unless a man was willing to jump from a window, to be greeted by the spires, and his death, waiting below. Hadrian crossed his arms over his broad chest, looking perturbed over these events even after all the time that passed. “There aren’t many people in this world that have the capability of murdering a king and then disappearing on the wind. What are the odds that two different assassins managed to pull off the same feat within a week of each other?” His gaze fell away from Arielle, emerald eyes burning as brightly as the candle behind them. “And now I learn that a man sitting my very council is involved in yet another assassination of one of our forebears... I can’t say if it’s all related yet, but I can tell you this much: I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my life, but I’m going to find out who did this and why.”

Hadrian pushed himself away from the desk, and turned back around to face her in full. Maybe it was foolish to cling so bitterly to something that was in the past, but he remained very much aware that as long as the culprits were left free there would always be a chance that they might come for the successors of this bloody legacy. It was as much about discovering the truth as it was protecting Arielle and himself. But bringing this up now had been for naught, for Arielle could tell him nothing that he did not already know. Her father’s assassins had been just as efficient, but at least it helped to confirm his suspicions. He considered telling her of his agent in the field; of his message about Sardonia and how this conspiracy might reach even to the Far East, but decided against it. Until he had solid proof there was no point in opening that avenue. And more than that, it couldn’t risk divulging all of his secrets until it was certain beyond a doubt that the two of them were on the same page.

His eyes fell away from her face, instead scanning the table behind her, and the mess of work that still waited for him there. For a moment he was undecided, torn about whether he should attend to his duties or use this chance to bond with the woman he would soon be bound to. No doubt they could use it after the hiccup he’d caused, but honestly he wasn’t sure he had it in him to socialize after such a heavy discussion; especially not with the woman he was so confused over. Drawn as he was, Arielle was still a dangerous enigma. Even if she did have feelings for him, her feelings over her father’s rebellion were no less real; he’d fought her long enough to know how tangible that passion was. “Forgive me,” he said after a while. “I’m sure you don’t want to be speaking about any of this; especially after yesterday. We shouldn’t be focusing on the pain of the past, not when we’ve got a future to plan.” Once again, his gaze traveled the table, and more specifically, the map upon it. The little black lines marking their road felt like the threads of fate, laying out the path they would soon be traveling. “Sadly, however,” he started, appraisal sweeping back to her bicolored eyes, “I do have a lot of work to return to. I have to make up for ignoring my responsibilities yesterday, after all, and I’m afraid that your really are quite distracting.” Not quite so much as when she’d visited him yesterday, wearing scarcely more than her undergarments, but that tantalizing body filled out her current outfit quite well. And after his confession, Hadrian wasn’t sure how long it’d be before Arielle started to tease him with an all new vigor to see if he was honest. She’d been on fine behavior so far, but Arielle didn’t seem like the type of girl who would keep her hands to herself overly long.

“There’s still a lot to be done before he leave,” he said, trying not to think about it, “I don’t imagine we’ll be able to see much of each other between now and then. But we should have plenty of time to talk on the road. We still need to have that discussion about finances,” he pointed out, wearing a bit of a sly smile. “Better pack enough wine for that one.”
Hadrian moved back to his chair where he sank down and fetched a fresh sheet of parchment to prepare his next letter. “If you need me you’ll know where to find me this time,” he declared, unwittingly mimicking her thoughts from earlier before he sent her off to attend to his tasks uninterrupted. This time, however, he bore none of that false coldness that adorned him yesterday. True to his word, he would not see much of Arielle in the day to follow, his dedication to work keeping the king in constant motion as the hours would melted away. It was as much to prepare for their journey as it was to distract his mind from everything that might go wrong upon it.
 
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“If you think that our journey into the wilderness of the north will be uneventful, then you don’t know men at all,” Arielle grumbled beneath her breath, a little cooler than she meant as her gaze fell to her bare toes. “Men are opportunists, it is something so engrained within them that they have no say. You and I are much the same; we take what we are offered and when we are offered. Such is the way of this world. I don’t doubt that there will be more than enough opportunities throughout our travel for one to have their thoughts on the matter of our union heard. While I will not trust your men, I will trust you and where you decide to place your own.” Stormy eyes slid to their corners, glancing sideways at Hadrian as he came to lean against the edge of his desk beside her with far too much space between them. “I hope, though, that you’ll take no offence if I insist that my cousin remains with us once we make it into the Northern territories. He has a...particular way with people that may work to our advantage.” The cream knuckle of a finger shifted close to him as it brushed over the backside of his wrist, the touch gentle and barely there; feather-light. It was a touch so soft that to any spying eyes it could have appeared as an accident, or a simple motion with no intention; rather than the careful motion of hand towards his own that it was. “I’ll have you know, though, that if you think that I am trouble then you will have quite the surprise when you meet my cousin. A scoundrel, more like.”

They both very well knew that it would not have been the struggle that had woke her, not when her bed was so many rooms and an entire level beneath her father’s. Yet, she would not argue with the seemingly only logical explanation, something that a southerner would seek first before tales of mythos. “Yes,” Arielle said after a little while, though her tone was revealing of her disbelief, “perhaps it was the commotion.” Like a moth to flame, Arielle was drawn closer towards the man at her side, towards the heat that ebbed from him as if he were a raging fire. It was the smallest of shuffles closer, nothing too obvious, and it was just enough to stave off the chill and calm a racing heart. “I think that my father said a great deal of many things that most would not like, especially in this part of Eirlea, being the south. I don’t think that any of them would give enough reason to inspire someone to murder him; just for words. Not with the brutality that he met at his end. It seemed....personal.”

As Hadrian spoke of his father’s equally untimely death, Arielle remained silent, her gaze down turned to the hands she twisted together. This, indeed, was something she wasn’t expecting to discuss when she burst into his study with an apology for her behaviour and all that she’d said. In fact, she had hoped that she wouldn’t need to dig up the past. It was best left buried, she’d decided. There was no point in chasing a ghost when it would not change the past. Hadrian spoke of his suspicion that the very same person was responsible for both murders, given the way in which they were able to vanish into thin air. Copper brows furrowed together in a slight frown as she considered exactly how one could disappear from the solar without being seen. Maybe the window that had been left ajar in her father’s homestead had more significance than she first thought....

Stormy eyes rose to his face as Hadrian suddenly apologised, stating that he had much to attend to as he likewise admitted she were becoming a distraction. A distraction? Arielle mused internally. I haven’t even done anything other than stand here and apologise. Perhaps Hadrian is more under my spell than he’d care to admit. That frown faded, being replaced by a wicked smirk that captured the corner of her mouth and tugged it into a grin. “It is you who must forgive me,” Arielle purred softly, remaining against the edge of the desk and seemingly unmoving, “I did not realise that I would be so distracting when I am not trying to lure you. I would have asked if I would have been welcome to stay, to curl up by that fire of yours for a little while and find some rest, but I certainly can’t stay if your mind and eyes will be wandering. I would not want to keep you from the letters waiting to be written and whatever other tasks that are pressing.” Eyes shifted to the crackling fire in the hearth, the embers a bright gold and warming the room. She would have done exactly as she’d said if she was certain that Hadrian wouldn’t appreciate her presence when he was trying to work through tasks; curling up on the floor before the fire like a tired cat to find however much sleep Hadrian would allow her.

Instead, she pushed away from the desk, unfolding the hands that had come to tangle together at her thighs, as she stepped towards the King who found his seat and settled within. “You need to eat something, Hadrian,” she gestured to the plate he’d only picked at with disinterest. “Mead and wine may fill your belly, but it will cloud your head. You need to consume something a little more substantial, or else you’ll have difficulty keeping up with me in two days time.” A finger curled beneath his chin, tilting his face to look up at her as Arielle came to stand just before his knees. “I need you strong, Hadrian, not fuelled by liquor.”

Those mismatched eyes were swirling with more emotion than one could ever anticipate; brewing warmth that spread as a rose blush across the apples of her cheeks. Thumb moved to sweep over the fat of his bottom lip, her gaze lazily drawn down to the seam of his mouth to linger there with a sparkle within the ocean blue of her eye. Red wisps of curls fell about her face from where they had been gathered and tied back, brushing the angle of her jaw as Arielle bent at the waist and leaned forwards towards him. Eyes peeled away from his lips, sweeping upwards to gaze deeply into his own jade green eyes. “I will leave,” she murmured, their faces now inches apart, her breath sweet honey from the mead. “On the condition that you eat the rest of what is on your plate, and find rest tonight.” Thumb released the pulp of his lower lip, only after drawing it down and releasing it with a wet snap, as the pad of the digit came to rest on his chin. “In which case,” the spring rose of her perfume washed over him, capturing his senses as inches turned into a hairs width, “I will bid you good day.” Her lips barely brushed over his own, the kiss barely there and more like a graze of a gentle breeze over the seam of his lips. It was fleeting, though it seemed to linger for moments, short-lives as her eyes remained locked with his own before she straightened and tucked red wisps of hair behind pierced ears. The hand that had caught his chin moved to his shoulder, squeezing at taut muscle.

Arielle gave Hadrian her back as she turned back to the desk, filling up his empty goblet with a good serve of mead before she collected her own goblet and re-corked the bottle before tucking it beneath her arm. Spinning in place to give Hadrian a warm, small smile, she moved towards the door. “I’ll be sure to bring my best vintage for the road,” she promised. “Try to enjoy the rest of your day, Hadrian, and don’t think of me too much.” The smirk was the last thing written upon her face before she left the study and sealed the King inside on his own. That smirk remained for the most of the day.

* * *​

Everything was ready, just as Hadrian has suggested, though Arielle had felt the need to inspect every detail to ensure just this. He’d surprised her, she had to admit, in his scrupulous consideration of almost all things, including the ammenities that would be risen from the ground and deconstructed when they moved on. In the hours she had spent unable and unwilling to bother Hadrian, though promising herself that she would have plenty of time to make up for such a thing when they were on their journey, Arielle had wandered throughout the castle rather absentmindedly and without purpose. Clinging to the shadows and watching the happenings of the staff, learning the gossip they shared, became her new, rather boring pastime. Oh, how Hadrian would laugh should he learn that his bride to be had stooped so low as to entertain herself with the gossip of the kitchen staff.

“I hear that she snuck into his chamber the first night she was here. Imagine the gall! I wouldn’t dare dream of interrupting him, especially not there.”

“But you’re not a northerner. You have sense. I hear that she has absolutely no concept of personal space, that she can be found throwing herself over the King whenever she pleases!”

“He’ll grow bored of her. Right now she’s just a challenge. That’s all that men want, before they grow bored and move onto something younger and prettier.”

“I’m not sure that he will grow bored of her, I fear. I hear that she’s been keeping him on his toes....”

“I hear that she fucked him in his sleep.”

“Scandalous!”

“I hear that he wakes in the middle of the night, crying her name in euphoria. That’s what Jessamine told me two nights ago.”

There was only so long that someone could remain in the shadows, listening to gossip they knew to be wrong, before they grew tired and found themselves in need of something more mentally challenging. For Arielle, that meant that she spent the rest of the day sharpening her sword and knives, wrapping her knuckles in white cloth before pummelling the hanging bag stuffed with hides to a pulp. Even then, there was only so many split knuckles and bruised knees that she could tolerate before her body ached and began to complain.

Now, she stood before the Friesian stallion, her blood-stained fingers combing through the tuft of dark mane that fell between flickering ears that listened to everything. Today was the time for their departure, and Arielle would have thought that Hadrian would have been keen enough to rise with the sun to get a good head start on their journey. She seemed to be rather wrong as she remained standing with her steed, their breaths misting together in the chill of early morning while she waited for the rest of their party. Had Hadrian forgot? Leaning forward, the cream of Arielle’s forehead came to rest against the stallion’s, the midnight black of his coat a stark darkness against the milk of her skin. He huffed, the horsey breath licking at the underside of her jaw as she smoothed a hand down the length of muscled neck. The stablehand had listened to her request, no saddle buckled to the creature’s back, though a loop of rope was loosely tied about the base of his neck; as if the stablehand couldn’t trust Arielle’s skill.

“Of course he keeps me waiting,” Arielle murmured between them, her eyes drawing closed as she relaxed into the stallion. “I don’t think he has any idea.” Any idea of how unsure I feel about our past and this war that I’ve waged. Any idea of how antsy I’ve been left to my own devices. “Gods, I’m so truly done for.” Fingers ran through mane, tangling as the stallion snorted loudly, a burst of warm air brushing her neck as she smiled small. “You best try and keep me out of trouble.” Arielle leaned back, looking up into dark eyes as ears flickered, listening. The stallion pawed at the ground, his chest rumbling as she ran a hand up over the length of his face and swept over a shifting ear.
 
Hadrian kept his eyes averted, mulling over Arielle’s declaration that she would trust him. The king had made his own strides in that regard; letting her assign his captain of the guard was a rather large one, for example, but he wondered if she felt the same hesitation. Could she really trust him so readily, or did she struggle with the concept the same way he did? But then, how could she not struggle? One drunken night spent away at a brothel showed how able she was to turn against him; and that was before they were married. What would happen if it was true infidelity? But they’d moved past that for now, at least, with Arielle shuffling a little closer, to the point her fingers brushed against the sensitive flesh of his wrist. Hadrian did not shy away from the contact, but neither did he return gaze to the woman at his side.

“Of course not,” he spoke, shaking his head at the prospect of her cousin’s presence offending him. “If it gives you peace of mind, who am I do deny you?” Besides, one man wouldn’t cause much trouble. That’s what he suspected, at least, until Arielle revealed that this particular man had an even greater proclivity for mischief than she. Hadrian finally restored eye contact at that, with maybe just a touch of concern written in his sea foam gaze. He was well aware of the exuberance of the northerners, and while he’d done his best to prepare himself for that, now that they were on the cusp of the journey he had a feeling he wasn’t prepared at all. Arielle was enough of a handful; was he truly ready to meet the rest of her family? At the moment, however, Hadrian was more concerned with the kin she’d lost. His mind was consumed with the details revolving around the deaths of their fathers. Arielle’s tone said she was unsatisfied with his excuse for what might have woke her, but she gave no other plausible answers. A debate over practicality wouldn’t get them anywhere, a sentiment Arielle seemed to agree with by the way she brushed off her doubts and moved on from the topic. A strong belief in the arcane and supernatural was one of the many differences between the two halves of their broken kingdom, after all

The only person Hadrian could picture having such a personal conflict with her father was his own, along with those who supported the late king. But if Leander and his underlings were responsible, it blew his theory of a selfsame killer right out of the water. It could very well be that his suspicions were misguided, but the king wasn’t so willing to admit that yet. His gut told him this was all connected somehow, and until he found any evidence to prove otherwise, he would continue to heed it. Arielle, though, didn’t seem nearly as comfortable with the discussion. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the trauma it caused, or if she disagreed, or perhaps because she had no interest in digging up this past. Maybe she preferred to put it all behind them, but that was something Hadrian could not do; not until he learned the truth of it. Even as he focused on the future, the king found himself stuck in the past, the mystery of his father’s death haunting him every day since it happened. He’d had enough of such ghosts for today, though, and Arielle seemed happy with that, judging by the way her pouty face twisted into a devious smirk at his dismissal.

Hadrian eyed her as she lingered, resting firmly against the desk while offering up her teasing, mock apology. His lips pulled into a likewise smirk, humor lighting the green of his eyes over the way she prodded at him with her words. “You’re always a distraction,” he admitted. She was usually a welcome one, but he left that unsaid. He found she could just as easily be an unwelcome one, anyway. She was a bit off both at the moment, bringing Hadrian to lament over all the work yet to be done. He felt far more drawn to the idea of relaxing with her by the fire than he did writing tedious letters and appeasing stuffy lords. But the day for neglecting his duties had come and gone, and regrettably he’d spent it without her. Caius tried to tell me, he reflected silently, his appraisal roaming the planes of Ariellee’s bruised yet still beautiful face. Her eyes were as gorgeous as ever, enkindled by the golden light of the flames she watched. I should have chased her down instead of hiding away. And yet, somehow he was just as glad he hadn’t. Until this treaty was official, she was still his enemy from the North, no matter the attraction between them.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arielle would remain despite the expulsion, proving once again she wasn’t much for the rules. Honestly, he wouldn’t put up much of a fight iff she did. That was, assuming she didn’t intentionally obstruct his work, anyway. But instead she pushed away from the desk, coming near and once more pleading that he eat up. Hadrian glanced the rest of his meal, his appetite still not having fully returned, but he nodded to her all the same. “I will,” he promised, reaching out to pluck a raspberry from the bounty of fruit, just to appease her. Yet, before he could even lift the delicacy to his lips, Arielle came in, hooking a finger beneath his chin and pulling his attention back up to the duality of her eyes.

“Not to worry,” Hadrian said, his voice sounding a little dreamy, “It’ll take more than the North to end my reign.” Privately, however, he wondered if that was truthful. It felt like he’d already lost to the North; lost himself in that swirling, multicolored gaze Arielle watched him with. She bore the hues off the earth and the sea alike, bewildering him with nothing but a look. Hadrian was stricken, remaining perfectly still while her thumb played across the plushness of his lips. Having her this close again… It was far more intoxicating than the wine last night, and her honeyed breath tickling across his lips was sweeter than the mead. To hell with the letters and food; maybe he didn’t want her to leave after all. But no sooner than he indulged the thought did her thump slip away, resting on his chin before she bid her farewell. And what a nice farewell it was, her pleasant aroma nearly as tantalizing as her soft lips when she came in. Once again they shared a kiss that was no true kiss at all. Gentle and fleeting, his own lips pressed back into hers as soft as a feather. It was the very definition off innocent compared to the way he’d kissed that harlot last night. Though, somehow, it was twice as stirring, even when she pulled away, hand retreating from his face to linger on a broad shoulder instead.

Hadrian meant to bid her a good day in return, but found the words a little difficult to grasp in the aftermath of the all too short of a moment. By the time he found his tongue she’d already given him her back, the silence interrupted by the sound of pouring mead as she topped him off. Hadrian drank her in one last time instead, savoring the view of her when she spun around on bare feet, red tendrils tucked behind her ear and the bottle of mead beneath her. It left him hungry for more than the food, but he managed to neglect it just the same.

“Likewise,” was all he managed to say in reply before she was gone, vanishing down the corridors with nothing bu the lingering perfume of spring roses and their ghost of a kiss to remember her by. Only then did Hadrian recall the pulp of fruit held between his fingers, which he lazily feasted upon, the memory of his bride to be distracting him as though she’d never left. With some effort, however, he managed to pull his mind away from Arielle long enough to get back to work. Again, the chamber knew only the sounds of a crackling fire and a scratching quill, occasionally paused while the king partook in the platter of food she delivered, as was promised.

~

The following day kept Hadrian even busier than the first. With the hour of their departure quickly approaching, he devoted himself to making sure everything was coming together smoothly. Their venture north would be a dangerous enough undertaking without incompetent preparations added to the risk. The better part of the morning was spent checking and re-checking every last detail. In the later part of the day he gathered his council once again, much to their chagrin. This time at least, he was smart enough to exclude Arielle, lest more chaos unfold the day before he took his leave. It was then that he officially announced his travel plans, revealing the truth that most of them had already managed to glean from the flurry of activity around the castle. Over the course of the meeting, it was hard not to be struck by how small their council was becoming. The absences of his treasurer, minister, and captain of the watch were all sorely felt. Even with Caius currently holding the position of the latter, they would still be three men down, for the King would never leave his Shield behind on such a perilous journey. His broken circle of rule offered no few protests over the king’s plan, especially after telling him that Arielle’s trusted companion would soon be filling one of the vacant seats. It would solve their problem of a captain, but Morteus would not be in for a warm welcome judging by a few glowers. In the end they had no choice but to bite their tongues and accept the inevitable, but their grievances did little to alleviate Hadrian of his own anxieties.

Following the council meeting, time flew by for Hadrian. Before he knew it, the sun was sinking into the horizon, stealing away its light and blanketing the world in darkness once again. Sleep did not come easily to the king, on this, the eve of their expedition. As he lay on his back, furs thrown down to cover only his legs, inviting the chill he would soon have no escape from, his eyes roamed the vaulted ceiling of his solar, and Hadrian contemplated how this would be the last night he spent in this familiar place for some time to come. He knew the most important thing to do now was shut off his mind and get some much needed rest; for the tundras beyond his borders were merciless; ruled by the unforgiving power of nature itself. And worse yet, he would have to rise earlier than the others, to finally attend to one final task that pride had thus far kept him from completing. Despite that, his green eyes were sparking with energy, rendering the king wide awake for some time to come.

His mind bounced from one thing to the next, from the anticipation of the journey to the anxiety that he may have forgotten some crucial task he was supposed to see to first. Lastly his thoughts landed on Arielle, wondering what she might be doing in this same moment. Things were so hectic around the castle that he’d had little time to consider her, let alone seek her out other than to confirm the time of their departure. Eventually, the sheer weight of his thoughts was enough to exhaust him into rolling over and shutting his eyes. Sleep found him eventually, though his reveries were hardly restful given his overly active mind. They were every bit as haphazard, intermingling all of his thoughts and concerns into a twisted, nonsensical dreamscape that kept him on the edge of waking.

~

The pale, grey light of predawn was illuminated the chambers when came Hadrian’s requested disturbance, a knock at the door bringing his lethargic, green eyes to crack open. It took him a second to realize where he was, what had woken him, and why, but once he did the king groaned and seriously considered damning the consequences of sleeping just a while longer. The persistent visitor at his door, however, made sure that was impossible. After muting his human timepiece, Hadrian had no time to spare in dressing himself and being on his way. Breakfast would come on the road, he’d decided, trying to ignore the buzzing sound of Arielle promising what the north would do to those who neglected sustenance. No time to consider that now, he thought, emerging from the solar to join a groggy looking Caius waiting on the other side. Only a nod was exchanged between them, with the Shield quickly falling in line behind his King as they struck out into the dim corridors of the citadel.

As intended, the castle had not fully woken yet. A few of the servants were already attending to their duties, specifically those involved with making sure everything was prepared for their regent’s travel plans, but for the most part, the halls were silent as the grave. It allowed the two of them to spirit away from the castle and to the royal stables with none but the guards any wiser to their presence. Like the watch, the stable master had already been informed the King would be taking this early morning jaunt, leading him to recognize his sovereign even as the figures appeared in the darkness, silent and cloaked, hoods drawn up to ward off cold. He gave a steep bow as the men approached, and wasted little time before showing them to their horses. Unlike most of the castle grounds, the activity was bustling here. Horses were already being drawn out and saddled up for their journey. Only the best, healthiest steeds were chosen for their venture north, for they had the best chance of surviving the harsh terrain.

Among the finest of them was the king’s own stallion, a solid karsten destrier with a striking, snowy white coat, flowing mane, and deep blue eyes. The horse was tossing his head with excitement as he was led by the reins, Caius’ own painted courser clopping at his side. Hadrian smiled at the sight of his trusted companion, striding forward to meet the stallion with a soft brush of his hand against his furry muzzle. “Hey there, old boy,” he greeted him, accepting his reins.The horse nuzzled back into the touch, the beast’s hot breath sending a way of warmth across Hadrian’s hand.

“Old boy indeed,” the stable master commented, handing over the other mount to the king’s shield. “He’ll be past his prime soon. You might want to consider getting you a younger thoroughbred.”

Hadrian didn’t even entertain the thought. He’d had Knox since he was a foal, creating a bond of trust that could not be so simply replaced, no matter how young and fast a prospect. He’d ridden in that saddle as prince and king alike, and even now, as he slipped his boot into the stirrup and pulled himself into the fine, black leather seat, the stallion was as alive with energy as he did in the height off youth. It had been quite some time since their last ride, and Hadrian could feel him brimming with eagerness as the king took the reins in hand. His ears flicked, hooves beating the ground with impatience as Hadrian held him in place. Meanwhile. Caius was pulling himself up and into the saddle of his courser to join them.

“I trust everything will be ready on time?” Hadrian asked, meeting the stable master’s eye as he stared up at the king.

“Aye, Your Grace,” he assured him fingering his bristly mustache, “My workers know there’ll be nothing but hell for pay if not.”

“Good, then. With any luck I’ll be back with time to spare.”

Increasing the odds, he tapped Knox in the flanks and set off at once, Caius and his courser galloping in their wake. The sun had only just emerged from the horizon, setting the skies on fire with scarlet clouds by the time they left the city gates and emerged into the open country. Luckily their destination was not far, just a few leagues before the old stone tower came into view. Like the Aldrich family, the Mandons were nearly as old as history itself, one of the first houses to pledge their support to the royal line, and their ancestral home was a reflection of that. The ancient stone bastion was only half the size of the royal seat, and twice as crude, but it was every bit as intimidating, if not more so with its impassable walls and jagged spires of black stone. The keep looked as though it were the bones of the earth itself, bursting out of the ground and reaching for the sky. It appeared especially formidable now, sharp peak appearing bloodthirsty in the red sunrise.

The two mounted figures approached the portcullis built into the border wall of solid stone, where two guards armed with pollaxes stood watch from on high. “Who goes there?” came the booming voice of one of them.

Hadrian looked at Caius expectantly, but the man scoffed. “I’m not your bloody herald,” he muttered, shifting impatiently in his saddle.

Hadrian opted for lowering his hood instead, exposing himself to the frigid air to reveal his identity. The features of his face weren’t nearly as telling as the halo adorning his head. Just over his brow rested a platinum coronet, far more elegant than the Mandon keep but every bit as jagged and intimidating. Emeralds and sapphires ran the length of the band, while a large diamond occupied the very center, radiant and beautiful. Green eyes settled on the two men who barred his path, letting them soak in the folly of exactly who they’d chosen to hold up.

“Y-your Majesty!” the guard proclaimed, eyes wide with surprise. “We weren’t expecting you!” There was an uncomfortable pause, the two men looking as though they’d seen a ghost. Clearly, word had gotten out about the altercation between their lord and their sovereign. “Open the bloody gates!” He could just barely make out the sound of the watchmen muttering to his cohorts. A moment later, the portcullis began to grind open, granting them passage into the citadel grounds. Hadrian took the reins in hand and coaxed Knox on, ambling into the shadow of the high walls and towards the keep beyond. At the doors they were greeted by another of Mandon’s forces, a man quite tense at seeing his regent before them.

“Your Grace,” he exclaimed as Hadrian climbed down from his horse. “Forgive me, but might I ask the purpose of this visit?”

“I wish to speak with Lord Mandon,” the king explained, prying off his leather riding gloves.

The guard’s eyes dropped from Hadrian’s face, falling to his hip, where he spied the black, ruby-encrusted pommel of a sword resting in its scabbard. He eyed the weapon with nervous suspicion. Had the king come to remove his Lord’s head with it? Regardless, the loyal subject wouldn’t dare to defy his sovereign. “V-very well,” he answered, and wasted no time showing the two men into the keep. They swept through the grand hall and were promptly led to a sitting room, where he invited them to wait while Lord Mandon was informed of the king’s presence. Hadrian could feel the tension even as the man left the room, though he remained relaxed and patient. Servants arrived before his intended party, offering refreshments which he happily partook in. After a bit of fine cheese and some grapes he wasn’t feeling nearly so bad about skipping breakfast.

Eventually, Lord Mandon himself appeared, looking every bit as startled as his men to see Hadrian sitting there, grim looking Shield at his side. It looked as though the old lord had been dragged from bed, his normally braided, silver, beard left a flowing mess for a change. He was modestly dressed as well, and maybe Hadrian was imagining it, but much his eyes seemed much softer than the last time they’d met. Or maybe it was just the touch of guilt he felt over seeing the purplish bruise he’d left on the minister’s jaw. The lord ambled into the room, dismissed the servant who delivered him with a bob of his head. Once they were alone his eyes roamed past Caius and landed squarely on Hadrian.

“Your Grace,” he greeted the king in a gravely voice.

“Lord Mandon,” he replied, meeting his steely gaze. “I hope you will forgive this early morning intrusion.”

“Come to take my head after all?” he asked, bushy brows raising. “One last deed before you ride off to the North?”

Hadrian wasn’t the least surprised the minister had learned of his travel plans, though his sarcasm threatened to undo the real reason he’d come. “I’ve come to amend the way things ended between us upon our last meeting,” he revealed, “And to restore your position on the council, if you are still willing, that is.”

This truly did surprise Lord Mandon. “Oh really?” he inquired, almost as though this were some sort of trick. “Even after the things I said?”

“We both acted out of order,” Hadrian admitted, folding his arms over his chest. “I do not condone the things you said, but nor do I excuse my own actions. I should not have lost my temper as I did.”


This time Hadrian was surprised, watching as Lord Mandon let out a breath, and shook his head in disagreement. “No, Your Grace,” he grumbled, sounding rueful. “Your actions were more than justified. I can’t say I feel any better about the Northerners and your plan to marry into them, but I acted a damn fool about it. Regardless of my personal feelings, you’re still my King and I should never spoken to you as such. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

“What is done is done,” The king told him, lips pulling into a soft smile. “Let us forget the past and work towards moving forward.”

Lord Mandon seemed satisfied with that, though he remained hesitant all the same. “And you’re sure you want me back on the council? Knowing I disapprove of this union?”

Hadrian nodded, though his smile faded quick enough. “It would make a poor member of my council who agreed with my every decision just for the sake of it. So long as you can put aside your misgivings, and treat my bride with the proper respect befitting a queen, we shall have no problems.”

Lord Mandon could agree to those terms, and after formally accepting his position back, he indulged the king in conversation a bit longer. But Hadrian would soon excuse himself, for he’d wasted enough time with this venture already. He’d be hard pressed to make it back to the caravan on time now… Hopefully Arielle would not get the wrong impression. The minister showed them back to their horses when their talk was done, bidding them both farewell and a safe journey. The mended relationship gave Hadrian something to be glad of, at least, as they set back out for the city. The ever rising sun was glaring as they rode back east, hoods puled down and faces kept low to protect their eyes.

They did not stop or slow, their horses thundering along the path even as they came upon the cobble-stoned streets, racing through the city and back to the stables, where the royal train would surely be waiting with impatience. The pair of mounted men would come into view before long, quite obviously arriving from the wrong direction as their reined in their warhorses at the front of the line, where Arielle waited with her black Fresian. Hadrian looked a kingly vision as he pulled his hood down once more, shining crown upon his mane of ebony hair, sword at his side and donned in traveling leathers and his black cloak trimmed with the silvery fur of a wolf, thick and warm for braving the gelid journey.

“Here I thought I was keeping you waiting,” he mused to Arielle, his destrier tossing his head as they came upon their traveling companions, “But I see you haven’t even saddled your horse yet.” Though, he eyed the crude rope she’d been given in place of reins, and quirked a brow once he realized her plan to ride bareback. Nothing sounded more uncomfortable to him, though he wouldn’t. He reined Knox in close to her side once Arielle was mounted and ready, and spoke quietly. “You were right about Lord Mandon,” he said, smile returning as he glanced at her. “All he needed was a little time. Let us hope the same proves true for the rest of our people.” The first step was this tour, and now, at long last, they would be off to change the country. “You sure you’re ready of this?” he inquired, smile growing into a grin of excitement.
 
There would be no understanding Arielle; not completely and never entirely. Those who believed that they had grown close to learning her secrets and the wild way in which her mind worked soon found themselves as equally confused as everyone else. Just as the ways of the North could not be explained, just as the way their traditions were based on mystery, Arielle was not something that could be so easily defined. She was as unpredictable as the blizzards up North, the kind that would promise a safe pass only to turn on a moment’s notice to trap a travelling party in the middle of a frozen tundra. She was as unpredictable as the loyalty of those who called the northern edges of Eirlea home; who could lie to one’s face with a well-crafted smile only to drive a dagger into one’s back a moment later. Was it her time in the North that had crafted her into such a wild creature? Was it the gypsy blood from her mother that filled her veins that made her an unpredictable storm of emotion? Was it the taboo blend of her parents’ blood that had altered her mind in such a way that she would always act in a way that was the very opposite of what everyone was expecting? Or was there something more to the copper-haired rebel that no one was yet to uncover or understand; a secret for the ages that she was not yet willing to share?

The stable-hand who had argued on several occasions with Arielle over the use of a saddle and bridle would say that she was simply a Northerner; the epitome of free-thinking that corrupted susceptible minds that were irrational and illogical. The bar maid that had served Arielle pint after pint of mead as she sat atop the stool with her chin in hand, seemingly a world away, would state matter-of-factly that she was a creature of her unacceptable parentage. The officer who had pointed out moment’s prior to Hadrian’s arrival that she could not possibly have chosen a more restless, useless, dangerous horse for the journey would argue that she was simply stupid; only to be reminded by a peer that she would not be where she was, having won so many battles if she truly were an absolute fool. What Arielle was seemed to be something that was entirely dependent on the mind attempting to understand her, a truth that would never be uncovered unless she wished it. Just as it made no sense that she were dressed in a pine green cotton shirt that was overlayed with a leather vest cinched together at the waist with a buckle that kept numerous hidden blades pressed to her spine and ribs, the way in which she stood before her chosen steed, lovingly nicknamed by her as Basatia, also made no sense to those who watched her from the corners of their eyes as they passed amidst their business and tasks to ready the caravan for the journey ahead.

If Arielle wished to have dressed for comfort, she certainly would not have carefully sheathed and hidden blades beneath her clothes and ensured they were always within reach; strapped to the inside of her ankle inside her shin-high boots, buckled and tied to the inside of her right thigh in a small leather sheathe, two tucked just beneath her bust that pressed into ribs and another long knife hidden beneath the dark fur of her cloak and the shadow it cast over her back. None of which were visible to the eye, of course, not when the dark cotton of her riding pants stole men’s gazes southward towards the wide flare of her hips and the prominent and rather ample flesh of her behind. If that did not prove distraction from the weapons she meticulously concealed under the guise of self-protection, the matching set of golden wedding bands that hung on a thin leather necklace against the beginning valley of her cleavage certainly would; one set with garnet, and the other engraved with words of promise.

Cream hands smoothed along the underside of Basatia’s jaw, fingers scratching lightly at the soft velvet of his midnight black coat before she pressed her forehead to his. “Eraman nazazu haizerantz, elurrera eta iluntasun amilderiga. Gure bidea zuzen eta egia mantendu. Ez utzi Hadrian bere bidetik ibiltzea.” Her words were an eerie murmur, sending a shiver along the spine of a young boy who wandered too close in curiosity as he carried a small trunk towards the loading caravan. The accent that laced her voice was foreign to his ears, mysterious but edged with something dark that he could not comprehend. Only one word came to mind as he edged away from her and altered his path as he briskly walked by; witch. The dark ears of the horse flickered before they lay flat within his mane, dark eyes drawing towards her as Arielle moved to his side and brushed a hand along the length of broad neck and ran blunt fingernails through mane. Her hand stilled, however, as did her steps, as the sound of Hadrian’s voice sung to her from above. So deep in her thoughts and gentle murmurings to the beast that released a huff of hot air that tickled her bare forearm, Arielle’s mind had been absent and not noticed the king’s approach, nor the clobber of his steed’s hooves over cobblestones. Whether Hadrian had heard his name on her tongue, and whether he assumed the intent of her foreign words, Arielle could not have cared as she moved to Basatia’s side and vaulted herself up onto the gentle curve of his bare back with expert grace.

The smile that Arielle cast him, however, was one of amusement as she settled into the groove of Basatia’s spine, the inside of her thighs pressed against the heat of his ribs as feet hung loosely in the air. “I’m sure that I will be able to think of some wicked punishment during our journey for having you keep me waiting so long,” she purred, tucking a stray wisp of red hair behind pierced ear while the mass of curls remained braided loosely to be tied at the base of her skull. “A pleasurable punishment for me, of course, but not so much for you.” Bi-coloured gaze lingered upon Hadrian’s warm features for a moment longer, her smirk just as spritely as her eyes before she looked towards the King’s Shield and addressed him with a simple nod of mediocre respect. “Apologies, Caius, but you best block your ears now if you wish to keep that innocent head of yours free from nefarious thoughts. I don’t intend on censoring my conversations with Hadrian for this journey.” Blue and green eyes looked at the man pointedly before her gaze slid towards Hadrian as she flashed a sly smile, “Take that to mean whatever you wish, Hadrian, dearest, but you can thank me for my advice surrounding Lord Mandon in the mean time. Next time, I should charge a fee.”

Basatia snorted, a gush of hot air released from velvet nostrils as tail was flicked with enough intensity that dark strands caught Arielle’s shoulder. A cream hand reached forward, fingers threading through the dark tresses of black mane as Arielle shifted her weight forward in her hips as she edged closer to the base of the creature’s neck to whisper into ears. “Lasai egon, Basatia. Kontuz egongo naizela agintzen dut.” Black ears laid flickered towards the melodious sound of her voice as she whispered to him, the dark beast growing still with patience renewed. With a press of her palm against the side of his neck, Arielle straightened and pressed the inside of her knees against his ribs as she fiddled and gathered the crude rope reins that was simply looped around the base of his throat. “Basatia is growing restless,” she announced rather abruptly. “I don’t think it has ever been a matter as to whether I am ready for this so much as it has been a matter of whether you are ready. How long has it been since one of your kin has set foot up North? If it weren’t for that overzealous crown upon your head, I would have said that my kin may not even recognise you as being their regent apart from the amount of people you seem to believe necessary to journey with us.”

Arielle had taken the time to count the pairs of eyes that watched her from their corners, and the pairs of feet that sped up their pace as they walked by her. What she had pictured had been a small band of necessary people; those who knew how to wield weapons in order to protect their King, those who knew how to cook by fire to provide meal in the middle of a tundra or forest, and those who could provide reassuring word where their talent lay with playing politics. Hadrian had deemed a number far greater than she had imagined as being necessary, but then again, perhaps that was the gypsy within her assuming that they would see to most things themselves. There was no need for someone to collect timber and coax a fire to life when she were able to do that herself. There was no need to have someone dedicated to hunting meat for meals, to skin and gut whatever beast was unfortunate to cross their path when Arielle was equally, if not more so, capable.

“I am more than ready, Hadrian. You forget that this is not just a simple journey into the wilderness for me, but this is a matter of returning home ,” Arielle was pointed with the way she mentioned the latter word, her gaze cast at him from over a shoulder as she tugged at the cloak about her shoulders to bring it closer about her should the wind decide to attempt to chill her bones. “I expect nothing less than a reunion once we reach the temperate forest north-east of Blackwater Ridge. I should apologise in advance, I believe,” Arielle taunted, the smile that pulled at the corner of her mouth incredibly playful as Basatia came to bump against Hadrian’s white steed in clear attempt to send them both a step sideways. “I hope that you won’t take it to heart when they don’t notice you at first.” Milky hand reached out to settle over his knee, fingers splayed as she patted the joint twice before giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze that suggested she was only taunting him. Blowing a wisp of red hair from her face, Arielle rolled out her shoulders. “I’m growing restless,” she murmured in admission as she cast a look over his shoulder at the men loading trunks into the wooden caravan that was crafted from dull planks of wood as if not to bring attention to the goods it was carrying. “I need to get going; I don’t think that I can—”

“Still foolish enough to refuse a saddle, I see. Whatever could be wrong with good human ingenuity that begets comfort for long rides, hm? Heaven forbid it be the traditions you attempt to keep.” The gruff voice that grated upon their ears could belong to none other than the dark haired man with threads of silver throughout his well kept beard. Morteus, atop a chestnut thoroughbred that appeared far too slender considering his stature, came around to flank Arielle, making particular note of the pathetic excuse of a set of reins. His words earned him a dark scowl from Arielle that was edged with something dangerous in warning before he looked to Hadrian from over her shoulder and continued. “Your betrothed has long since had a death-wish, something that I have never come to understand.” Pale eyes slid towards Arielle once more, only the shine to his eyes telling her that his words were not crafted with malice.

With a huff through her nose, much like that which Basatia released through his velvety snout, Arielle rolled out her shoulders and wrapped the crude rope several times around the slender of her wrist before she cast Hadrian a look. “I won’t wait for you to catch up.” There was no swift kick to the underside of a belly. There was no tug on the rope reins. There was no swat of a hand against dark rump. Instead, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken understanding between rider and beast as Basatia shook out midnight black mane before peeling away from the gathering party; taking off in a steady canter through the wide streets towards the gate that enclosed the great Citadel.

Morteus laughed deeply beneath his breath. “She’ll be your problem soon enough, and that makes me wonder whether you are at all cut out to keep a tight leash on her. Though, you would have to make some attempt to tame her first, and that is bound to fail.” Unlike his wilder counterpart, the gruff and war-weary man drew his thoroughbred away from the king and towards the caravan with a harsh tug of the reins, moving instead to dictate over the proceedings and rush them as he knew full well that the Lady of the North would not wait for the rest to meet her up ahead.
 
Hadrian’s lips pulled into a smirk, his mind unable but to imagine the details of this punishment she vowed to deliver. “Those are some bold words,” he said, amusement sparking in his eyes, “I suppose we’ll see if they hold true.” Not that he necessarily wanted to bet against her. Arielle was definitely the creative type; who knew what sort of mischief she would cook up out in those wilds she called home? Undoubtedly she would find a way to make good on those words, for she was as determined as she was resourceful. And of course, she was bold as ever, proclaiming this within earshot of several, including his Shield. Hadrian could only imagine what their retainers would be saying about them come the afternoon.

Caius, at least, seemed none too bothered by Arielle’s lack of shyness. “Not sure what gave you the impression it was innocent,” Caius told her, his thoughts jumping back to the liberal way he’d spoken of their future Queen the night Hadrian chose to drink himself into a stupor. He shifted into a more comfortable position in the saddle, looking more than a little ready to move on. “I’ve spent some time amongst the Northerners; I’m used to the way you lot wield your tongues. And besides, you should hear some of the things this one says about you.” He gave a little nod in the king’s direction, devious smile breaking his normally stoic face while he turned his courser about, cantering on a short ways ahead of the pair and ignoring the sharp look Hadrian passed his way.

Brushing off the goading of his Shield, Hadrian’s attention fell back to Arielle. “I’m not sure the crown can afford your advice.” Though he doubted very little any ‘fee’ of Arielle’s would come down to something as simple as money. She did so love her games, and there wasn’t anyone she seemed to enjoy playing with so much as the king. “I’m already in debt, what with this daunting punishment you’ve promised me.” Falling silent, he watched while Arielle soothed, and spoke to the beast beneath her. Hadrian was no stranger to the foreign tongue she used, but understanding it was another matter. In times past it was customary for the crowned prince to learn the language of the North, but once the kingdom was divided, Hadrian’s father no longer saw the point in teaching his son. As such, he could decipher no more than a handful of words. Hearing. Her speak it, however, was a sobering thing. As ever, he was struck by the differences between their nations; struck by the fact their lands were once two halves of the same whole whole. Even looking back on the time before the war it was difficult to picture them as one kingdom. But he supposed that was to be expected. Their fathers may have driven the land to a breaking point, but the wedge between their borders was placed long before that. He wondered at how long ago this time of unity must have been, if it ever truly existed at all.

Arielle seemed to pick up on his thoughts, reflecting his question and noting the fact that no royal had made this journey for quite some time. Eyes shifted to the contingency around them; a restless bunch more than ready to be on their way. It was the farthest thing from inconspicuous, but the North was challenging enough without denying himself a few royal comforts. Besides, one couldn’t be too careful in hostile territory, and most of the bodies were that of soldiers. They were a grim looking sort, few if any happy about a venture they clearly considered fool hardy. Hadrian couldn’t blame them though; they’d spent most of their lives fighting against the very people they were off to visit. “I’m overzealous?” He repeated, feigning a slight frown. “Is that why you’ve been fighting so hard to relieve me of it all these years?” His false pout soon pulled back into another cocky smirk. “Don’t forget, if all goes well you’ll be wearing one of your own soon enough.” It was a still a strange thought, picturing the leader of the rebellion crowned at his side.

“Well, the North is a frigid place,” Hadrian said at her warning, gaze dropping to the hand on his knee, “I know better than to expect a warm welcome.” Not for the first time, he considered what it must be like to call such a harsh, unforgiving land ‘home.’ To Hadrian, home was here in the grand city he’d always known. But things were different in the north. Arielle’s people did not live such a static existence. For them, home was anywhere and everywhere they pleased. What must that be like, he wondered, eyes sweeping up from her pale fingers to linger on her face, To move about from place to place, never knowing one place as home? No doubt he would find out soon enough, once they finally reached her frozen world. “I’m ready,” he assured her, hands tightening on the reins. Good thing, too, given her admissions. Yet before they could be off, another came to interrupt.

Hadrian’s attention jumped to Morteus, bringing the king to remember the last time and and the gruff man spoke; if you could call it that. He’d all but forgotten him in the light of Arielle’s reaction to his midnight vagaries. Now that he was seeing him again, all those uttered criticisms came back to mind. Yet, that was all brushed aside once the king found himself agreeing with the northerner’s sentiments. “Bloody witless thing to do, if you ask me,” he nodded over Arielle’s lack of a saddle. Not only did it look uncomfortable, but Hadrian was more than certain she’d be thrown ass deep into the snow eventually. How could she trust nothing but a simple loop of rope on a horse she’d only just acquired? It took either a great deal of trust or a great deal of arrogance; or maybe even a bit of both. Regardless, the two of them seemed a good fit, somehow. The wild look of a horse with no saddle certainly agreed with her personality, if nothing else. And that dark expression given to her attendant was enough to keep Hadrian from doubting her too much.

Hadrian laughed at Morteus’ quip, deep and musical. “Oh I’m well aware,” he admitted, wearing the shadow of a grin, “Otherwise she wouldn’t be marrying me.” But a bit of reckless nature could be fun, Hadrian had to admit. Arielle had no lacking of it, a fact she was eager to prove even now as she turned her attention on Hadrian and uttered her promise. It felt more like a challenge, and Hadrian felt his grin widening when she turned about and set off without another word, her hair whipping about like a blazing fire in the wind. Morteus’ words pulled at his attention once more, though Hadrian didn’t even look at the man as he replied. “Well I won’t find out by sticking around here.”

With a sharp command, Knox jumped into action, setting off after the other horse with a whinny of excitement. The cold air stung Hadrian’s face, the gale picking up as they rode, but he paid it no mind. He hunkered down, keeping himself low to the horse’s neck with his eyes focused on the pair in front of them, already a fair distance ahead. His Shield, meanwhile, was lagging behind, still with Morteus and the rest of the caravan who were seemingly forgotten without a second thought. The stragglers watched their sovereign’s erratic action with uncertainty and bewilderment. “It’s like we’re minding children,” Caius grumbled to Morteus, before turning his courser about and extending his voice to the rest of the group. “Let’s get a move on, you lazy sods!” He boomed, taking it upon himself to utter the King’s words, since the man himself seemed to forget his royal duties. Once the group was finally on the move Caius rode on ahead, trying to keep up with the one he was meant to be guarding.

Hadrian didn’t make it easy for the man. Not a look nor thought was cast back for rest of them as the king fought to catch up with betrothed. Unlike his mad dash earlier this morning, the streets were now teeming with people, and the citizens were given quite a surprise as they spotted their sovereign racing through the district like a mad man, shining crown and all. One man was so stunned by the sight he only just narrowly dodged Arielle’s horse as he crossed the road. Wicker baskets in hand he watched her ride on, only to toss them aside and leap to safety once Hadrian came in her wake, like she was a thief in market. The king shouted out a quick apology but his voice was lost in the wind as they rode on towards the edge of the city. Luckily, the ones behind them had enough tact to clear the streets before the rest of the retinue came rumbling through.

Once they were free of the clutter of the city, out into the open countryside, Hadrian finally had enough space to catch up to the pair. Seeing her ride so well, he had to admit his misgivings about her riding tack may have been rash. He doubted he would have been able to to ride through those crowded streets without a saddle and stirrups to keep him rooted in place, let alone steer a horse with little more than intention. His own steed was eager to keep stride with hers, thriving on the challenge almost as much as Hadrian himself as they continued on. After a time, however, they would have to slow for sake of the horses as well as those trailing behind. And so Hadrian cantered alongside her, wordless while he contemplated everything that awaited them over the horizon.
 
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You should hear some of the things this one says about you.

Cobblestones turned into short, lush field before that, too, transformed into wild long grasses. Yet, despite their venture out of the bustling city, leaving behind the loud chatter of the people milling within the broad streets, it was proving particularly difficult to shake the Shield’s remark from the forefront of her mind. Caius had an unusual way of getting under her skin, very similar to the man she trusted most that was more war-hardened warrior than outcast nobleman; a way that made her pick through carefully selected words that were cast together with the goal of making her read between the lines. Certainly not the same way as Hadrian was able to vex her, and certainly not to the same extent, but the pair they had left behind in their wake most definitely for on her nerves. It came as no surprise to her, then, that she was left wondering what exactly the king had been saying about her behind closed doors. Did he boast about finding her at the foot of his bed that morning? Did he boast about how he kicked her out from his room like an unwanted dog with its tail between its legs? Did he tell them of how he’d rather the attentions of women he could purchase than the Northerner who had been warming his bed in the hopes of sharing each other’s company? Did he tell his men how she was soft despite all that she portrayed, and told them the ways to upset her? The only person who was able to answer all of these questions just happened to have caught up to her as Basatia slowed to a brisk walk, but Arielle didn’t dare ask. She was far too proud.

So proud, in fact, that she chose to remain silent for several hours into the beginning of their journey, casting him only sidelong glances until curiosity got the better of her. Copper brow twitched upwards as cream fingers came to capture a wild curl of red hair, tucking it behind the shell of her ear that was pierced with glistening gold studs. “I’m curious,” she called to him, the dark beast edging closer to Hadrian’s own steed as if he were aware that the answers she sought should be shared between only the pair. “What kind of things have you been saying about me behind closed doors, hm? Something interesting and worthwhile, I hope. I never guessed you to be the type for gossip. Perhaps this is where the scullery maids got their information. Though, some of the things that I heard them saying were very decadent.” The shine to her eyes was bright as it was playful, the corner of rose lips twitching upwards in a smirk. “Your doing, perhaps?”

A deep breath escape monstrous lungs as Basatia released a loud sigh through velvety nostrils, tossing head and mane as if he wished to make his own opinion heard. Cream fingers threaded through thick coat, tangling with midnight black mane in reassurance. “Then again, I’m sure the rumours circulating would be far worse should they learn that their King hasn’t given into temptation, nor his own desires, and is too much of a prude.” That wicked smirk shifted to something far warmer, though that playful shine remained within mismatched eyes. “A good thing it is, then, that I’ve come to respect you enough not to be bothered by petty little rumours.” Nor the fact that you wish for ceremony to solidify this deal of ours before you allow yourself the pleasures of the flesh, her eyes seemed to murmur in addition.

Whether Hadrian spoke of what he had spoken of or not determined just how long Arielle lingered at his side, their horses, so stark in difference that she couldn’t help but find an ironic comparison between the animals and the sectors of this broken kingdom, rubbing against each other’s shoulders with each graceful step as they carved through tall grass. Patiently, she would have waited, until either Hadrian confessed what he had said about her behind closed doors, or until she realised that he was too stubborn to share. Arielle very well may have retorted with whatever he chose to say with something sly and cynical, but regardless, she would have deemed the conversation over the instant she got some kind of reaction.

Dark horse and fiery woman pulled away and ahead, midnight black tail swatting about as if the steed shared its rider’s same sass as it took off in another canter through the brush of the beginnings of woodlands.

* * *​

Adoris was a fairly small town in comparison to the bustle of the Southern capital that sat on the edge between nations, though a little too large to be considered a village despite the peaked thatch roofs and narrower streets. The warmer air had dissipated hours ago, taking on a chill that came only as one neared the North; the wind carried from over the snow-capped peaks of the mountain range that stood as sentries. Maridon Peak, the jagged mountain that stood well above the snow-capped range, could be spotted if one looked close enough at the horizon; a beacon to the gateway to the North. The town of Adoris was painted in dull colours, the bricks of the smaller squat houses the same shade of reddish clay dirt underfoot as the travelling party neared the perimeter. A tavern, perhaps the largest building aside from the wooden slat church, sat on the corner waiting to greet them, the window panes aglow with warm candlelight and the space echoing with hoarse laughter deep from bellies.

There was good reason as to why the Tavern was larger than their place of prayer, other than the fact that this town was not dedicated to their faith. It sat so close to the split of the mountain range, the only route to and from the North, so they believed, that it had become their duty over time to man the watch tower that sat a three hour long ride further north of the town. The watchtower didn’t require great numbers, but their fear of the rebellion had encouraged them to gather more men in this time of civil war in order to protect the Gateway. A hardy amount of the belly-shaking laughter would have come from weary men who had only travelled back when the next rotation had come to relieve them; returning home to drown themselves in drink as they’d been unable to do for some time. It also came as no surprise that such a small town like this was mostly empty at this hour; the remaining men within the tavern with the women and children remaining behind to find rest.

Sun had dipped low, the sky now painted rich shades of vermillion and indigo as the cool night began to creep in. Eerie clouds sat on the horizon; foreboding with a promise of late-night rain should the chilled breeze not drift their gloomy mass further out to sea. Shadows had grown long, features of faces lost in the darkness as the travelling party grew weary from long hours of riding with very few stops along the way. It had been their plan to stop earlier, to pitch tents in the grassland between the city and Adoris, but Arielle had pushed them on with the promise of warm food and comfortable beds. If they had of stopped and so soon, she wasn’t sure that they would ever make it to the North. It was something that she doubted any of them would feel, the subtle shift in wine direction over bare skin as the air lost its moisture and became and arid cold. The beginnings of a storm brewing, she knew, and not a good omen for their journey. They needed to push on if they were going to make it to the North, if she was going to return home and share the news of peace at last. Arielle chose not to share this with the king, knowing that if he were to learn of the brewing storm that he would likely wish to abort; something that Arielle was too stubborn to allow. A snowstorm didn’t frighten her as it may the rest, in fact she revelled in the idea of being trapped with Hadrian for a little while if only to give her an opportunity to speak to him of what was on her mind, with the King having no possible way to shut her out.

From over her shoulder, Basatia having taken it upon himself to draw further ahead of the travelling party with long, thundering strides that seemed to move the earth beneath heavy hooves, Arielle cast Hadrian a wide grin as she called; “I promised warm food and comfortable beds, didn’t I?” As the dark steed grew still, awaiting the regent to come to their side, Arielle watched Hadrian with a shimmer to her eyes before she added. “Perhaps don’t sleep on the floor this time, hm? You’re not made for finding rest on floorboards like some of us.” A gentle tease that was crafted with a warm smile, something that carried a fondness that remained mostly unspoken. Sapphire blue and pine green searches sea-foam eyes as she gazed across at Hadrian, before her attention was stolen from the man at her side by another who had joined them and loudly dismounted.

Morteus, weary and far more irritable than his usual from the ride, dropped to the slick dirt track as he took leather reins in hand, tossing them a little harshly at Arielle. “I’ll discuss rooms. Try not to draw attention to yourself in this place until then. Five minutes shouldn’t be hard.” With mud clinging to leather boots, the brute of a man stalked down the beginnings of a narrow street that lay before them and swung the tavern’s door open with enough force for it to bounce against the outside wall and close behind him.

Arielle had the good taste to make no comment, despite how she had ducked out of the way of the reins tossed at her head and caught them in a swipe of her hand, with copper brows narrowed deep in a disapproving scowl. Long rides, it seemed, did not agree well with her most trusted supporter. Remaining quiet, Basatia snorting disapprovingly through velvet nostrils, she waited several moments before Morteus reappeared from the door, looking only mildly less irritated. His steps remained heavy as he marched back to them, coming to a stop before the woman he was loyal to and the King he was yet to accept.

“The keeper has agreed to give us the majority of the rooms for the night, though there’s only five.” Steely eyes were cast at Hadrian, the look sharp. “I’d suggest that your party of men camp at the back of the tavern, out of the wind, for the night, since I assume the pair of you will not be sharing a room.” Hard stare flickered between the couple that remained seated atop their steed’s, seeming to not notice the harsh glower given to him by Arielle. “I doubt the keeper would be interested in having five men to each room, but do as you see fit. Three pieces of gold for each room. Four if they’re double bunked. I figured you’d have brought enough coin with you.” Square chin tilted up at Hadrian, the taunt blatant. Morteus pinned Arielle with a frown. “I’ll watch the horses out back, you can see to yourself.” Mud squelched underfoot as he moved to swipe the reins from her hand, tugging his thoroughbred around the tavern and into the shadows without so much as a look back.

After a little while, Arielle beginning to stew in anger, she finally considered what Morteus had said. “I don’t need to stay in the tavern. If your men would prefer the luxury for this one night before they’re forced to sleep out in the cold, then I’ll happily go without. Besides, I have an awful habit of finding my way to the foot of your bed regardless.” Her smile was small and tight lipped as she looked across to Hadrian. “You’ll have to excuse me while I see to something. Let me know of your decision when it’s made.” Weight shifted to one side, all that was needed to suggest to Basatia to break off from the travelling party and move towards the shadows of the great building. It wasn’t until she was cloaked in gloom that she dismounted and stroked fingers through midnight black mane before moving towards the figure of a man she clearly identified as Morteus. “The ride seems to have absolved you of your manners, Morteus.”

The man snorted, seeing to the tack of his horse that he roughly dumped over a fallen tree. “Didn’t realise that you thought I had any to begin with.”

Rope was pulled gently from about dark steed, Basatia free to do as he pleased as Arielle turned to face Morteus with lean muscled arms crossed over her chest. “If there’s an issue, I’d prefer you to just come out and say it, rather than pussyfoot about the problem and treat people like shit in the meantime.” Despite the harshness of her words, Arielle’s tone was somewhat gentle as she scolded the man several decades her senior. Moving to lean against the cool brick of the tavern, she watched as Morteus laughed darkly at her as he went about freeing his horse of leather tack. “Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you just going to sook like a child?”

Morteus chuckled grimly. “That’s rich.”

“Coming from me, you mean? Yes, probably, but at least I come out and say it.” Arielle pressed, taking one of the very many blades strapped to the curves of her body to absentmindedly pick dirt from beneath a blunt nail as she ignored the dark glare that was shot at her from the shadows.

Saddle was tossed over the dead limb of the fallen tree as Morteus grew still, facing her now though he remained several feet away. “I’ve seen the way that you look at him and it’s pathetic. What happened to your goal to unite the country, hm? Or is that out the window now that you think he’ll give you his cock?” As Arielle continued to clean dirt from beneath her nails with an obnoxiously sized throwing knife, Morteus was only taunted to continue by the silence. “All this fighting. All of this fucking death. You think you can fix that by getting married to that arrogant fucker? You’re an absolute idiot if you believe that, Arielle.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged a shoulder as she swiped the blade across the meat of her thigh. “Maybe I’m an absolute idiot for believing in something other than war. Aren’t you tired of fighting, Mort? Aren’t you tired of ‘all this fucking death’? Does it matter what I do to ensure that it stops? Peace needs to be established before there can ever be an attempt to bring to two halves of this country back together. Maybe you are the fool for not realising that and thinking that all of this is just some elaborate plot to get in Hadrian’s pants.”

“It’s pretty fucking clear to me that that’s what you want,” Morteus snarled.

Arielle laughed, this time equally as dark and foreboding. “I want a lot of things, Morteus, some more selfish than others. It seems like I need to remind you that while I appreciate your blunt honesty, that it isn’t your job to dictate my life. I’ll do as I please, and you’d be best to remember that.” Throwing knife was tucked back into the sheathe at the inside of her thigh with a graceful motion before she straightened and rolled our shoulders. “Your foul mood is getting on my nerves. Be sure that it doesn’t follow you back when you return to the Capital to take your place as Head of Guard tomorrow. I have a feeling that they’d be far less forgiving of your attitude.”

Shadows birthed her as Arielle deemed this conversation over, pulling the elastic from braided hair to allow copper curls to spill down to her waist in a wild tumble. Wherever Hadrian had wandered off to, whether it was within the tavern they had acquired rooms within for the night, or whether he was still deciding what to do with his over-exuberant number of soldiers, Arielle found him and caught him a little roughly by the elbow as she pulled herself close.

“I need to clear my head,” she muttered, her tone a little sharp. “Caius can deal with your men, I’m sure. You’ll have plenty of time to order them about later. Right now, you’re coming for a walk with me.”
 
The silence was palpable as Knox ambled along, Hadrian’s body instinctively shifting with the motions of the saddle. Just as Arielle stole her sideways glances, so too did the King frequently spy her, wondering at the thoughts blooming in her mind. At this point she was being uncharacteristically quiet, and Hadrian devised a game of guessing why that might be. Was she preoccupied with the journey ahead? Perhaps ruminating over how she would explain the surely unpopular decision to marry him to her family? Or maybe she was still brooding over the King’s midnight jaunt to the brothel, uneventful as it was. That last one seemed closest to the mark once Arielle finally did speak. Hadrian had grown so used to quietude that his head perked up in surprise at hearing her voice, yet he couldn’t keep a sly grin from claiming his face once he realized what she’d been thinking about all this time.

“If the gossip is good enough, even I will indulge,” he teased her, stalling with the answers she really wanted. “Like I told you, rumors can be worth more than gold.” Though, his wit soon turned to lighter as she suggested he might be to blame for the whisperings of the kitchen staff. “Hardly,” he said, shaking his head and watching her with a wild look in his eye. “That’s entirely your fault and you know it. I’m not the one who declared before the council that I’d have neither time nor craving for any woman but you.” It was a vow he hadn’t taken seriously at the time, but after his failed attempts at bedding another Hadrian was left squirming in his saddle. Gypsy witch indeed, he thought silently to himself, remembering the slur of his councilman whilst considering the spell she’d evidently cast upon him. At his rider’s sudden inability to sit still, the destrier shook his mane and snorted with a touch of annoyance, his hot breath misting in the cold air. Hadrian was normally good at hiding his thoughts and motives, but apparently he was in bad form today, for Arielle mentioned the brothel as if she could see right through him.

“A prude, am I?” He asked, lips quirked with amusement. If that’s what she thought than she definitely hadn’t heard all the rumors. For every responsible aspect Hadrian possessed, he could never fully deny the wild side slumbering within. Duty came first, of course, and as the heir of Eirlea that often meant the animal had little time to come out and play. But the devil’s day always came, and Hadrian was sure to make up for lost time whenever he got the opportunity. Indeed, the people were less likely the king had resisted his temptations compared to the veritable wealth of times he hadn’t. “You didn’t seem to think so when you were half way to being a hot mess,” he told her, wearing a wicked smile as he recalled the damp warmth he’d felt between her legs once she’d wrapped them around his hips and drawn him in. “If you ask me, you’re just being impatient. No need to rush, my dear. I’m definitely worth the wait.”

However, a bit of playful banter wasn’t the only thing Arielle was after with her question. Already Hadrian’s mind was leaping back to that conversation with Shield, the very same that led to the King’s late night escapades in the first place. In fact, Caius had more to say about her that night. Even now, some days later, Hadrian still had trouble shaking off the man’s words; how things only hadn’t progressed with Arielle because he believed Hadrian was afraid of her. Sea-foam colored eyes flicked towards her as he considered this, doubting it all the while. And yet, he knew the hesitation between them came from much more than his desire to see this official first.

“Caius was just having a bit of fun with you,” Hadrian finally confessed, his eyes turning back to the road ahead. He was glad their protectors were giving the royals their space, hanging far enough back that his Shield couldn’t hear the discussion to suggest otherwise. “I think much, but I say little, closed doors or not.” He flashed her another grin, refusing to elaborate on these thoughts even should she pester him again. “Though...” He paused, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin, “I admit, I used no few colorful phrases to describe you after you routed our forces at the Frozen Shore and took the port for yourselves.”

gain, he would not elaborate just what those colorful slurs might have been. If he was to be honest, Hadrian was still a little peeved over that defeat at Arielle’s hands. They had once brought on a great deal of commerce from those docks, and it’s loss was sorely felt across the whole of his kingdom. Had the crown retained control of the vital supply line, they likely wouldn’t be facing the financial pressure they were today. In fact he’d long been hoping to bring this up, hoping to discuss how their unity now meant they could rectify the situation. But his opportunity was lost as Arielle rode on ahead, Basatia seeming to adopt his rider’s very spunk. The king did not race to catch up with her this time. Instead, he gave the reins a little tug, falling back to linger near his shield and the entourage trailing behind.

~

Thanks to his retainers, the journey was moving far slower than would have been ideal. The woodland trails proved more difficult to traverse for the wagons and wheelhouses than the open roads of the country. With the threat of foul weather ever present in his mind, Hadrian was beginning to curse his decision to bring such a large company. Though, he knew once they entered the true, bitter climate of the north, he would be thankful for the warmth and services available to him. Failing his own benefit of those perks, however, The Shield of the King had no issue with voicing his discontent over the situation, especially after one of the wagons lost its wheel in a collision with an upturned root, causing them further delay.

“It’s not even snowing yet,” the warrior grumbled, watching the servants struggle to fit a new wheel upon the spoke from atop his courser. “We’ll freeze to death before we lug this dead weight all the way to the North.”

“How long before we make it, do you think?”

Caius sighed, and shook his head. “Can’t even say how far north we’re going,” he admitted, pulling his mount away from the scene to carry on ahead. The king clicked his tongue, prompting Knox to follow along beside the man as he continued: “We could be going anywhere beyond those mountains. The northerners never sit still, you know that. Just look at your intended.”

Hadrian might have spied her, if she hadn’t kept riding on without them, thus proving his point all the more. She was a wild one, just like the rest of her people. None but they could ever help to command a stallion like that, with little more than intent. That fiery spirit could burn a man in the worst way possible, and even now Hadrian could feel his blood running hot at the thought of her. “Well,” he started to say, pulling away from those thought to stare up into the canopy of trees, where he could see a grey, overcast sky peeking through the branches, “Let us hope the roads are favorable.” Caius scoffed at that, but before long the wheel was replaced and the convoy back on its way, a loud procession through the otherwise quiet woodlands; there on hiccup on an otherwise uneventful journey to Adoris.

~

The chill lingering over the Capital was nothing compared to the frigid breath of the North, a taste of which came to greet them as they neared the first true stop on their journey. Against the fading light, Hadrian could just barely make out the inky shape of Maridon Peak on the horizon. Distant as it was, it seemed an inconsequential thing now, but Hadrian had been to the foot of the range before; he knew full well just how imposing those jagged peaks would become. And he knew it would only grow colder along the way, leaving them chilled to the bone before long. Even now, the king found himself drawing his hood up, taking sanctuary within the fur-lined garment as a bitter gust blew in from the mountains. Small wonder Arielle appeared to be so drawn to his warmth when she hailed from such gelid lands. And yet, it seemed as though the cold were little bother to her.


Then why is she so insistent we rest here? He wondered, mildly suspicious eyes picking her out from the crowd as they descended on the quiet town. Why did warm food and comfortable beds matter to one who took to the floor when presented with the choice? Thus did Hadrian suspect she had other reasons. But his days were mostly spent in a lofty Citadel back home. He could not feel those subtle changes in the air, the whispers of the coming storm that drove her. Despite his suspicions, he held his tongue, resisting he urge to prod at her. He’d promised to trust her, after all, and she knew the North better than any of them besides. And so, once again he was left merely to guess at her thinking, any and all possible intentions stewing in his mind.

That was all quickly shoved aside as she looked back to catch him spying at her, and flashed him a grin. Hadrian soon caught up with her, their black and white horses joined again, and cracked a smile in return. “No, I dare say not. I’ve still got the kinks in my back to prove it.” Their conversation could go no further before Morteus arrived, looking every bit a grumpy old porcupine in the way he seemed to bristle at the King. Hadrian’s smile melted away, eyes smoldering beneath his hood as he appraised the blustering man. His behavior as he threw the reins at Arielle and stomped off was a far cry different than his demeanor upon their leaving. Perhaps the long ride was to blame, but Hadrian had a sinking feeling it was deeper than that. He could feel the man’s animosity towards him; his rightful enemy for all but the last several days. It was no easy thing to swallow, the King knew, as he continued to suffer the same. And he also knew he could expect more of the same the further north they pushed.

Hadrian’s attentions lifted from the tavern door Morteus had blown through, and searched Arielle’s face instead. She was passively quiet, but he could feel the thoughts swirling beneath those blue and green eyes of hers. He thought to say something, but could not find the words, and so decided to sit with her in silence until her man returned. That silence was much harder to maintain once he was before then again, audacious as ever. Hadrian set his jaw before he made the situation for once, and merely gave the man a curt nod in response to his suggestions and demands. The regent remained composed, letting the insult pass in a way his father never would have weathered, but his grip tightened on the reins, and fire was in his eyes as he watched the man snatch up his thoroughbred and stomp off through the mud. After a display like that he had to question having such a short tempered man at the head of his guard, but Hadrian was content enough to disregard Morteus once Arielle spoke up again; for now anyway.

“Don’t be absurd,” he responded at once, relaxing in his saddle now that they were alone again. “You are to be their queen. Your people would not see you sleeping in the cold, and nor would I.” Though, she seemed to have an interesting alternative in mind as she suggested where she would end up. That struck Hadrian silent again for a moment, sea foam eyes gleaming a little at the thought. Next thing he knew she was excusing herself, so Hadrian saw her off with a nod of approval. “Well, hopefully I don’t find you on the floor this time,” he managed to add in farewell, wearing a teasing little smile as Basatia carried her away. He remained there for a moment, watching her round the tavern and disappeared, following Morteus into the shadows. Only then did give Knox a little tap in the flanks, tugging the reins around to retreat to his own, ever present shadow. Hadrian had grown so used to his Shield lingering abaft him that he could forget the man was there at times.

“You’ll want to be careful of that one,” Caius told the king as he came near, eyes jumping from Hadrian’s face to the heavy boot prints down in the mud. “He’s a killer, just like that girl of yours. You seem to have a nasty habit of surrounding yourself with deadly folk.”

“We needn’t worry about him,” Hadrian assures, continuing on to where there caravan waited near the outskirts of town. The Shield fell into his place beside the king, his painted courser snorting irritably. “He’ll be back off to Aquarin soon enough.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, is it? You giving the enemy a key to that lofty castle? You’re putting him at the head of an army; at the head of your city’s greatest line of defense. You may as well have polished the throne for his buttocks while you were at it.”

“He won’t betray us,” Hadrian stated matter of factly.

“Oh? And how are you so certain?”

“Because I have a much more valuable key,” the king explained, eyeing him with a sharp gaze from the shadows of his hood. “The key to the north. Arielle is the heart of this rebellion; the living spirit of her father who began it; and she wears his mantle well. The people love her as they loved him. Morteus is as loyal as all the rest. He would never defy or betray her. And besides... while Arielle is out here with me and my men, any number of things could happen to her. He would not dare to test my ire with his lady so firmly in my hands. As long as Arielle remains mine, so does the North and its people.”

“As long as she’s yours, hm?” The shield failed to keep a smirk from his face. “Sorry if I don’t share your confidence when the two of your aren’t even married yet, but you’re already having problems in the bedroom. Anyway, I heard the details about lodging. I’ll make sure the men know what’s what.” Caius, ignoring Hadrian’s flower, turned his courser about and trundled off, going to relay the orders, but not before giving the King one piece of parting advice. “Go and make her yours before you go making grand claims.”

That bit of advice plagued the king even as he dismounted and handed Knox’s reins off to a servant. The stablehand would see to it that the destrier was well looked after; fed, brushed, and blanketed for the night, so Hadrian left them to their devices and made his way to the tavern instead. Perhaps he’s right, Hadrian thought of his Shield as he traversed the muddy trail back to the inn, his long cloak just barely clearing the muck as it swung about his heels. Denying Arielle this part of himself for so long might only grow complicates. Already it had amounted to one argument, who knew what kind of rift it might create if allowed to continue? And yet, this worry did not abate his other fears. His mistrust remained as prominent as his interest, even despite the effort he made. The conundrum left him distracted, even as he spoke to the inn-keep and handed over the agreed amount for the five rooms. It would not be enough to House all of their group, but at least some few would take comfort in having a proper roof over their heads.

Hadrian had only just finished business with the man by the time a very flustered Arielle found him. He looked up in surprise as his arm was seized, his lady pulling herself close and demanding she come away with him. Hadrian eyed her skeptically for just a moment, wondering what happened to cloud her head in the first place. Stern words from her disgruntled companion, no doubt, but he left that unsaid and simply gave into her request. “Very well, then,” he agreed, speaking a quick thanks to the inn-keep before escorting Arielle out the doors and away from the bustle of the tavern. By now the sun had nearly set, a blanket of darkness settling over the land as the last of its light sank beneath the western horizon. The shadows seemed to swallow the pair as they strayed from the building and it’s illuminated windows, rendering them two black figures in the night. Hadrian remained quiet for a time, but once they put some distance between themselves and the rest of the group, he finally spoke up.

“So... what’s got you worked up?” He asked, arm still hooked with hers as he passed her a sideways glance. “Get yourself a scolding from our new Captain of the Guard?” He was more than a little curious as to the source of Morteus’ bad mood, and what was said after she sought him out, but he did not press the issue. Their business was still their own, difficult as it was to put out of mind. Considering that, Hadrian decided to change tact instead. “It’s been years since I’ve been to the mountain,” he told her, eyes jumping to where he knew Maridon Peak resided, even though it’s shape could no longer be seen in the deepening obscurity. “And even longer since I’ve been through the range...” Not since he was a boy, in fact, his mother still alive, and their father’s friendship in tact. And even then, most of the north remained a mystery to him. “It feels... daunting, to say the least.” Hadrian’s attention fell away from the horizon, falling on his companion again instead.

“What about you?” He asked of Arielle, “How does it feel to be on your way home, on the arm of your sworn enemy?”
 
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