She has gone pale, her mouth slightly open, her handsclenched in her skirts. Had this been her doing? Had she thought it a jest, or a lesson, or a way to remind me of my place?
“Aileen?” I whisper, though the word never leaves my lips.
She shakes her head frantically, eyes shining with panic. Then, almost imperceptibly, her gaze flicks past me, to the side of the hall.
To Aynhard.
He stands half in shadow, arms folded loosely, his expression composed. And then, slowly, his mouth curves into something like a smile.
Understanding settles over me like cold water.
Charles follows my line of sight. His jaw tightens.
“Enough,” he snaps, turning back to me. His voice softens—only for me. “This ends now.”
He shrugs off his cloak and wraps it around my shoulders, cocooning me in heavy fabric, in heat and protection. His hand presses briefly at my back.
“We will speak of this,” he says, loudly enough for the hall to hear.
As he leads me away, the murmurs rise again behind us. The court loves a good scandal. I walk beside him, cloaked and shaken, my trust cracked in more than one direction.
* * *
After taking me back to the bedchamber, Charles disappears once more. For a while, I sit on the bed motionless, replaying the events of the evening in my head over and over again. The celebration on the streets has quietened down, and a soft wind blows the curtains open, allowing me a small peak out at themoon. My body aches from sitting still for so long and yet I can’t get myself to relax. He will come back. And I need to be ready.
There is a soft noise, a wooden chair being dragged over stone floors. My eyes flutter open, it’s already getting light outside. For a second I wonder where I am, but as soon as I turn my head, I see him. Charles is standing beside the wash basin, his shirt is off and he is making quick work of washing himself. His back is broad, marked with scars from battles long won. I watch in awe as the muscles in his back work, drawing tight and releasing with his movements. As if he can feel me staring, he slowly turns around.
“I am sorry for waking you, my Queen. I tried to be as silent as possible.”
My Queen.
MyQueen.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach.
Suddenly, I am not tired anymore.
Charles dries himself off and runs a hand through his hair. He has beautiful hair for a man in his early 40s, most men I know have lost at least some of it at this point. But not Charles.
I don’t know what to say to him, the sight of the King half-undressed in my bedchamber is not something the nuns have prepared me for. I can hold a conversation about the weather, I am trained in stitching, and can name the kingdoms on the map, but bedroom talk is not something that was taught.
“Where have you been?” I ask, trying to sound light and sitting up in the bed.
Charles growls. “I have been out in the woods, hunting. After that display tonight I had to…get in control of my emotions,” he responds.
“Oh,” I say quietly and look down at my hands. How embarrassed he must have been to see me like that.
“I am sorry the wedding guests seem to have gotten my instructions wrong,” Charles says diplomatically. His anger is still palpable, but instead of scaring me, it makes me feel alive. He is protective of me, having to go hunting to calm his emotions.
Charles sinks down heavily, planting his elbows on his knees. His hands thread through his hair, fingers gripping at the roots as he stares at the floor.
“This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he sighs. I can see that he is exhausted. He looks back up at me, and our eyes meet. It should be an uncomfortable moment. We both know what is expected of us; the reality of what we are about to do hangs between us unspoken, and yet all I feel is excitement.
My mother has told me what to expect. Aileen reiterated the same while she helped me get dressed tonight, and yet none of their clinical explanations can describe the hunger I feel for him.
Something in his eyes changes. Tiredness gives way to heat, as if he can hear my thoughts. He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out before him.
“Come here, Fastrada,” he says quietly.
