27. Rorin
Rorin
I opted for the comfort of my desk after the disastrous dinner with Baelor and my father. I’ve chosen that comfort for the past couple of nights in fact. Since coming home my sleep has been fitful. A torturous melody of Eveera’s screams in that cell is on a constant loop in my mind followed by seeing my father mingling with the man I’ve single-handedly been trying to end for the past few years. Who’s killed our people, good people of Vellar.
With each nightmare I wake up sweating and panting. Murder the first thought in my mind. The rage I felt seeing those men handling her, the things I have imagined that they might have done during our states of unconsciousness. The things they’d suggested they would do. If I hadn’t cut off their heads, I would do it again for as little as a wrong look in her direction.
Tick tick tick.
The large clock’s mechanisms clicking together become the metronome to my thoughts and I zone back in on the maps, payrolls, condolence letters, and missives piled on the wood. “Father, what game are you playing at…” None of these coordinates, or formations make any sense. Going back months in the paperwork, I see the same pattern. We were pigs being led to slaughter . But why? Why kill so many innocents, innocents of Vellaran blood and then break bread with Baelor?
The hour hand strikes forcefully. I sign the final condolence notice for tomorrow and stamp it to be sent tomorrow. I make quick work of the buttons on my shirt, stopping short in the doorway. Her small frame is spread haphazardly across the large bed. Limbs bent at awkward angles, the side of her nightgown riding up just under her curves, and her once neat braids are fraying where the curls refuse to be bound any longer.
One…two…three…four…
“She’d be pissed to find you doing that.” The sudden intrusion of a voice behind me has me reaching for the dagger at my hip until I realize it’s only Axel.
Snooping bastard.
“Shh. You’ll wake her and then we’ll all be paying for it.” He scoffs quietly before walking about to the bed. He tucks a loose curl away from her face, straightening the blanket afterwards so that it covers her exposed leg. His closeness to her is irritating even if I understand it.
“You do that a lot I’ve noticed.”
I peer up at him as I unlace my boots. “Do what? Piss her off?”
He chuckles, his voice much quieter now. “That too, but no. Watch her so closely. Someone who didn’t know you might think you are ogling her chest.”
“I am not ogling her chest.”
“It’s a nice chest.” He teases looking for my reaction.
I give him a pointed glare, “ you are not ogling her chest either.”
He laughs, raising his hands in defense. “The way you watch her…well it certainly riles Ezra up.” He backs away from the bed .
Prepared to end the conversation there, he’s halfway out the door by the time I decide to give him an answer. “I count the rise and fall of it. Her chest that is. Reassures me she is still breathing.”
A crease forms in his brow, “okay.” The wheels turning in his mind are obvious as he tries to work out my reasoning past that.
I place my hand on the comforter, looking down at the sleeping queen who in this state doesn’t look nearly as formidable as she does awake. My fingers, with a mind of their own, ghost over her cheek. “There have been one too many times now where I thought it would stop moving altogether. And it would be my fault.”
“Wanting to avoid guilt?”
I don’t dare look at him as the words tumble from my lips. “If she died? There wouldn’t be a corner of this world I could hide from the guilt of that. It would be my undoing.” The click of the door lets me know he’s gone, with no more words needing to be spoken.
For the first time since the bathroom floor, I risk sleeping next to her before dawn. With the weight of me dipping the mattress down, I expect her to wake up. I’m more caught off guard when her arm and leg fuse around my middle. Nails digging into my bare side. A very rare moment of vulnerability from such a hardened individual. If she could see herself…a laugh bubbles in my chest. I imagine if she could see herself, I would be subjected to an onslaught of cursing and threats.
My hand wraps around her, cradling her head into me and a sigh slips. Conscious, Eveera may be able to claim she hates me, but this version of her now only feeds my hungry delusions. How perfectly her body molds to mine. The way the silk of her slip feels against my skin. I keep my hands chaste hoping to shut down waking up a different kind of beast. My free arm stretches to put out the sconces and at the movement, incoherent mumbles pour from her lips like syrup .
“Shh…we’re pretending. Just sleep, beloved.” The word comes out for the second time in the past two days. The first I could convince myself it was for the part only. The part we chose to play. The part we’ve persistently reminded the other of. But in all honesty, as I brush away a few stray curls and draw circles on her back’s raised scars, I mean the word. But she wouldn’t accept that, she’d stab us both in the heart before she allowed hers to feel for mine.
A cold chill spreads over me. My sleep addled hand reaches for the limbs that are no longer wrapped around my torso.
Smash! “Fuck!” My feet hit the floor, carrying me out of the room.
Eveera, tangled mess that she is, is bent over shattered glass. The scent of new bourbon fills my nostrils. My arms cross my chest as I watch her, flummoxed and frantic. “Evidently sleeping with me has driven you to drink.” Her head snaps up to see me leaned against the doorway.
“Maybe I was just ridding you of your intolerable liquor.”
“Ah. The spirit is intolerable but sleeping with me was okay.” Her brows crease in annoyance as she goes back to fumbling with the broken pieces.
By the new look on her face she assumed I’d moved over in her direction to help clean up. It sours the moment she realizes I came only to retrieve a more aged bottle of my favorite drink. I take it with me and sit myself on the cool stone of the balcony that goes mostly unused. Why stare at and admire a city that only holds a morsel of kindness for me? The clinking of glass shards dissipates in the background. The queen takes a place by me with her knees tucked up under her chin. The short material of her dress falls, gathering at the hip .
Damned, bewitching woman.
My lips wrap around the bottle rim followed by the familiar burn as my eyes stay glued on that bunched fabric. “You’re staring.”
I raise my eyes to see her scowling. Always perpetually pissed off. “I’m admiring.” I droll.
“Ad..miring…” I nod my head taking another drink. Her eyes follow the movement of the liquid trailing down my throat, making heat crawl up the back of my neck.
I smirk. “Feel it’s only fair. Your limbs climbed me like a desperate animal when I got into bed. I might as well admire the owner of those limbs.”
“Fuck you.” She growls.
“When and where?” I suggest. Her eyes widen in alarm triggering an alcohol loosened laugh one that’s deep and hearty. She shakes her head, looking at the ground as her shoulders start to shake. Her body rumbles with laughter, the sound rich and real. And that, that is a sound I want to hear all the way into my grave.
Eventually the laughter dies down. Heavy thoughts settling down between us. Baelor, the war at my doorstep, the war in my home . And maybe not for her, but for me there is a third war. One where my mind desperately doesn’t want to feel for her but my heart knew I was fucked the moment we met. I swirl the bottle - now nearly empty - in my hands.
“You hate that they don’t love you.” Her words catch me off guard, searing me through.
“You love that they hate you.” The sound of the liquor bottle dragging on the stone beneath me echoes between the two of us. I’ve had far too much alcohol and she has had far too little for this conversation.
From the corner of my eye I see her sad smile. "Yes.” She whispers .
My finger drags along the rune on my wrist. “What if they didn’t, hate you that is.”
The smile on her face falls flat, replaced with mild irritation. “You don’t get it. The things that others say, the fear that pours out of them when they see me. I revel in it. I made their fear of me tangible. The endorphins that rush through as they cower by my simple name. It makes me insatiable.” She bites down on her lip. “I don’t want to be anyone’s hero. I like being their villain. It is not something that needs to be fixed about me. It is not something I am willing to change. My people know that, everyone else should too.” There is confidence in that truth for herself. One that I find I envy. The citizens in this kingdom, save for my soldiers, made me to be a villain. A mistake. A scourge on their good name. I’ve always tried to make them feel differently. But hearing her words…
“Your people though, they love you. You may be someone’s villain, but you aren’t theirs. Not the way Baelor is to his.”
Gold eyes pierce into mine. “They don’t love me, princeling. They respect me, there is a difference, and that is a right Baelor has squandered by his ambition. His army has a keen ability to be calculated. But he himself lacks such a quality. He is a tyrant.” Fingers slip into her braids, freeing them of their ties and pins, rich dark hair cascading down her back. “Those that raised me did not raise me to be a tyrant. But even still, I would much rather have my people’s respect and fear than their love. With fear they don’t risk betraying you. With love that is not a guarantee.” The octave of her voice deepens with that last sentence.
She shifts uncomfortably on the stone, stretching out her legs and leaning back on her hands. The serpents inked to her skin have all coiled themselves around her neck and chest. As if they are snuggled in for sleep. Against my better judgement, I find myself changing my own position .
My head hits the silk of her slip. Nestling against her stomach so that if I stare up I will see just the underside of her chin. Eveera’s whole body goes rigid at the change in our dynamic. Those golden orbs wary of the contact, I lazily smile up at her. Like our conversation is one of light instead of painful truths. Her muscles relax under the weight of my head and she returns her stare to the sky. It’s just the alcohol. I remind myself.
“Tell me about them.” It comes out unintentionally. A whisper of a thought.
“No.” Her tone is harsh, but when she looks down at me her eyes are filled with defeat, and I know should she tell me about her parents she would be giving up control. Control of their memory.
“Tell me.” I plead while raising my thumb to wipe away a traitorous tear of hers.
“Why?” She gasps. “Are we to start comparing battle scars? To start bonding?” The break in her voice fractures something inside of me. A renewed desire to go back in time and save her from this. Had it never happened there would be no scars for me to trace on her skin. There would be no look of contempt in her eyes.
My palm rests against her slick cheek. “She must have been otherworldly for the only way to cope with her loss was to punish yourself.” I don’t hide the anger in my voice as I admit for her that the scars littered all over her like patchwork are her therapy. I knew what I walked in on back in Bair wasn’t a first time offense.
Her teeth suck that pouty bottom lip into her mouth. “She was. They both were. Loved by everyone. But most especially her. When she died we all felt the ground shift,” Her eyebrows draw together in their usual fashion, “she believed in the Fates. Trusted them. They had made her softness a strength. But when my mother birthed me it was made clear to her that in this world, your softness would either make or destroy you. And that if I were to survive them, the loss of them, that I would have to be hardened.” Rattled breaths sound under my ear. “I found her. You saw, you know. She knew too, she knew it would be me. With her clairvoyance there was no manner in which the people responsible for… dissecting her, had caught her off guard.”
My arm winds around her waist, pressing us closer together. I can hardly look at her. There should be no reason that she allows me to touch her. But she doesn’t push away. “Instead of drowning in her blood, I painted myself in it. I rose up to be exactly what she designed me to be.” The pleasantness of our bodies wound together the way we had been in bed is in direct contrast with the words leaving her lips. “I survived her so that no one will survive me.”
I see it so clearly. How the world will burn at her feet and I vow to myself there, that I will be the one to light the match.
I’ve not seen Eveera this morning. She left after her admission, leaving me to lie on the cold stone. Whatever warmth had been allowed to form between us must have been due to the alcohol.
Every moment I feel we get closer, that I have weaseled my way into that stony black heart of hers, she retreats and forces up another wall. It’s maddening. And if I weren’t humiliated enough, the new nightmare plaguing me has taken turns with a dream of her in that damned slip. The feel of it against my cheek, waking with an ache between my legs. Like a bloody teenager who’s just learned about sex.
“Rorin.” My name echoes distantly in the back of my mind. “Rorin.” The voice says again. I blink the boredom from my eyes, and return to the company at present .
This morning has been the first my father has called on me since our return. As a part of my responsibilities for the Celebration, as my mother makes her final preparations, my father dragged me into this damned council meeting where I have to be subjected to listening to the insolent commentary by my father’s Lords.
“Sorry?” My hands clasp in my lap. Trying to make myself look interested in what they have to say.
A collective sigh of frustration echoes throughout the room. “We were just saying, it might be prudent for you to attend this Valen Celebration… alone . Of course we understand your “friend”, the young queen will be present but many other ladies will be too. You’ll be in need of a wife here soon enough, it’s time you started looking.” Chancellor Finnigan states, his face twisted into disapproval.
“The Princess Pruella will also be in attendance. In the name of peace it may be prudent for you to show her some attention.” Lord Birk’s voice unsettles me on a good day. But at the suggestion of Pruella…well, a decent prince would have refrained from grimacing at the thought of dancing with anyone other than the queen who plagues his mind daily. But I am no decent prince.
My palms press tightly against each other. “As enticing that all sounds. I’ll pass.”
My father’s eyes, for the first time in a long time, seem genuinely tired. A glimpse into that stony facade of his, perhaps. “A disappointment.”
“Yes well, you’ve survived my many bouts of disappointment thus far. I’m sure you’ll survive this one also.” A series of disapproving glares are shot my way as my father continues droning on. My stomach sours at the thought of socializing with Baelor’s offspring. There is a reason he has allowed them behind our walls. I think, while staring at his profile. It’s all too quick and cozy after what Hadar’s Guards have done at the command of their king…to just be so chummy? It doesn’t make sense.
A cold but welcome presence slips into my mind and I have to suppress a smile. Subtlety is certainly not her strongest suit and since she hasn’t spoken, I’m curious to know what she is bouncing around in there for.
“ Your Highness…is there anything you’re in need of?” I ask.
“From you, Princeling? There is nothing I need that you have.” Mm. Yes very convincing, Nightmare . Her presence quiets, leaving me again, a slave to my own boredom.
There is a tingling numbness in both my ass and legs from sitting in this gods forsaken chair the past several hours. No words, or sense of feeling from Eveera since I spooked her earlier.
Snooping around in my mind isn’t usually something she’s explored doing - so, I’ve come up with three potential reasons why she may have opened the seal. One, she is uncomfortable and sought me out to distract herself from court. But being that her existence in Vellar is at my request and therefore I am the root source of her discomfort, that wouldn’t make sense. Two, she truly did need something from me and I scared and embarrassed her. Or three, she was simply being nosy. I would place all my money on the third one.
Lord Birk scowls at me as he leans in to whisper something into my father’s ear before leaving the two of us alone. My father waits until the room is fully cleared to address me. His voice thick with disdain when he does.
“You could have acted more interested in today’s meeting, Rorin. You will be king of this council one day. ”
Not if you have anything to do about it . I think to myself.
“Ah, why start feigning devotion and obedience now, father? The council wouldn’t know what to do with themselves. I’d be subjected to healers for fear the royal Prince Rorin had gone mad.” I halfheartedly joke.
“They already think you’re mad, son, bringing Obsids to this court.”
I tilt my head at him. “And what of you? Bringing in King Baelor and his spawn? After everything he set Hadar’s Guards to do. After what they are STILL DOING?! You can sneer all you want at my disobedience and for bringing in Queen Eveera, but I brought her as an aide to our kingdom. Because no matter what pathetic peace treaties you have drawn, the one thing that man does not know how to do is peace . Look at Peverell, Mellant, and Evendell. DO THEY LOOK PEACEFUL TO YOU?!” My hands slam down at the table, mists circling around them. I want to Wield. To subject my father to one of the many lessons, he subject me to but—
You can’t. My conscience whispers.
“Fuck her if you want, son. Get out all your twisted fantasies if that is what it takes to rid them of my kingdom.” His stark blue eyes pierce into mine.
I give him a tight, saccharine smile. “Who knows father, maybe by the end of all this you will be rid of me, too.” The magic drags back into my body slowly. I have to coax it back into the that tiny mental box I usually stuff it away in.
I left the discussion at that. I didn’t stick around to hear his, what I am sure was a biting, retort. The pressure of this day has already been enough and arguing with him is just wasted time.