Chapter Eleven #2
“And you are so helpful. You will be good and not argue with him?”
Jocasta rolled her eyes. “Mother, I’m his queen, not someone he has to mind for the afternoon while you’re out doing the marketing.”
“Well, try to be pleasant. You two look like you’re very fond of one another already.”
“We are.”
“Good. Then go and kiss your father so we can leave. He’s had too much wine, and he’s starting to sing.”
“Oh, no.” Jocasta rose, hurriedly, and Girion rose as well, alarm on his face.
“What?” he demanded in a hiss, following her.
“My father is getting beyond himself with all this wine and mead. He’s going to start singing soon.”
“All right, lads! Who knows ‘A Sailor’s Lass Will Give You The Biggest Wave’?” Mr. Waterman demanded.
“Oh, no.” Girion quickened his steps. “Father-in-law! Let me take you to the steward so you can take a bottle of that mead you like so much home with you.”
“He’s a good one, dear. You’ve done—hic—very well for yourself!” Mr. Waterman gave a clumsy bow to Girion, then hugged Jocasta heartily.
Cole came up behind them as they were herding her father to the door of the banquet hall and whispered, “This might be the best time to make your escape, sire, my queen.”
“Oh, is that what you have to call me now?” Jocasta blinked, startled.
“Or ‘Your Majesty.’ Or just ‘Majesty.’ Whatever you prefer.”
“I prefer Jocasta, but that’s unlikely.”
“We’ll head up the backstairs, Cole. Thank your parents for keeping everyone entertained until they weary of all the free food and drink.”
“Of course, sire. Have a pleasant evening.”
Jocasta let Girion take her arm and lead her through passageways and then up the narrow winding stairways until they were once again in their own hall.
She began, “We—”
As Girion asked, “Would—”
There was a laugh, and then Girion gestured for her to speak.
“We should go to your rooms, yes?”
“I was going to ask if you were too tired and wanted to rest in your rooms?”
Jocasta shook her head. “No, thank you.”
She swore she heard him swallow, no, gulp, and then he nodded and opened the door for her.
“Nalar has been here,” Girion sighed when he surveyed the room.
Jocasta could see the Master of the Wardrobe’s handiwork. On one side of the bed, an elegant, sheer nightdress was laid out, along with slippers and a robe. Girion’s side of the bed had nothing on it.
“You don’t get a fancy gown?” she teased.
“I don’t think it’d have the same effect,” he groaned. “You don’t have to wear that. You can see right through— Well. It’ll be cold in that.”
“Well, you don’t have a thing to wear. You’ll be colder.”
“We have blankets.”
“I think perhaps they expect we’ll warm each other.”
Nodding.
Silence.
She was never good at silence when it was the better course of action, only clinging to it when she really ought to open her mouth. “If you are worried that I don’t want to lie with you, I do.”
“You do?” Girion looked surprised, but happy. “Honestly, Jo?”
She swallowed and nodded. “You said you loved me. And I know that what I feel is—”
“I said I loved you?” Girion cut her off sharply.
The happy bubbles filling her stomach began to pop, slowly, one at a time. “Y-yes?”
“When?”
“Why, just today!” The bubbles popped faster. Her fingers curled into tight, tense balls. “You said, ‘The love I have for her is equal to the love I have for my kingdom and my people.’ You said you chose me. With all the love in your heart.”
Girion looked at her, stricken. “The love I have for you as queen. As my ally. I place you equal to my kingdom and people. With all the love I have in my heart for Caledon, I choose you. You will save Caledon. Save my people.”
“Oh. Ohhh. I... I see that now. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, that isn’t what you meant. Will you excuse me? I need to change out of this dress.”
Jocasta hurried away into the bathing chamber. Giron’s rooms were a mirror image of her own, only larger. She pushed the lever and let hot, steaming water, heated by the hearth that shared the wall, come cascading into the tub to muffle her sobs.
I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t need to be loved. I didn’t ask to be loved when I agreed to this.
I don’t know why I want his love at all; I don’t need it. He is kind enough without it. And I... I told him I didn’t love him yet.
She curled her head to her knees, hands over her mouth. Her crown toppled to the floor and clanked, making her gasp and cry even harder.
Too late, Jocasta realized she had lied to herself—and to him.
GIRION PACED, RIPPING his wedding finery and armor off bit by bit, each thrown with brutal force.
His wife was crying in the next room because he had broken her heart. He hadn’t meant to.
Curse his tongue. Curse everything.
“Jo!” he cried, pounding once on the door. “Please come out.”
“Soon!”
“No, now!”
“Just a minute!”
“I can hear you crying,” he said softly.
The door opened at once.
“Then take your big Bear ears someplace else, you eavesdropper,” she spat, and began to slam the door.
He caught it and pushed inside.
Jocasta was half-undressed, her gown off, and some sort of thin underdress clung to her body in the steam. “I’m sorry. I am not good with words,” he apologized.
“Oh, you're better than you think. Don’t worry, Girion, this is my fault, not yours. I lied to myself. Told myself I wouldn’t have feelings, but I grew them so swiftly, and when I believed you returned them, I.
..” she sighed, and her shoulders sank. Jocasta crossed her arms over her glistening chest. “I wish you’d leave and let me hate myself in private. ”
“I don’t want you to hate yourself, or me!
Oh, Jo, I... Listen. Listen to me. I’m going to tell you something no one else knows.
Only my father knew, and he took the secret to his grave, not believing it anyway.
Once you know it, then you’ll know why I have never wanted love or marriage, why I am so bad at letting myself get close.
But I am close to you. Not even Cole knows, and he’s always asked. Please?”
Jocasta reluctantly nodded, returned the lever to its stopped position, and let herself be led from the steamy room.
Girion put her in front of the hearth and hurried to pick up the cloak he’d thrown, wrapping it over her shoulders.
“My mother died, very suddenly. I was nine. My mother was... She was the dearest person, and she loved my father. She loved me. She loved Caledon and all the household. She was everyone’s queen. Everyone adored her.”
Jocasta nodded, a puzzled frown on her face. “I know how it hurts to lose someone who was a huge chunk of your world. Of your heart.”
“Oh, that was bad enough, but it didn’t stop there.
After a year of mourning, Countess Ciara came to visit my father.
My father had been a shadow of himself—until Ciara came.
It was obvious she wanted him. It was obvious that she intended to use any means to get him, even lust. My father didn’t love her, but once he’d bedded her—well, he believed it was love and that she had to become his wife. ”
“People react in strange ways when they lose someone.”
“It was more than that. You know the difference between a mage and a witch. A mage has magic they control. A witch forces magic from other sources to do their bidding. I knew Ciara was a witch, and I knew she had been giving my father potions to make him crave her. She would place the potion in his glass each night and tell him it was a health tonic, said it would make him virile—and they would laugh as if it were all a lover’s secret jest.”
Girion kept pacing as he talked, each step pulling a word from the locked vault of his soul.
He cast a look at Jocasta’s face, waiting to see her disapproval, to accuse him of being a jealous child, or one too close to the memory of his mother.
She didn’t. She looked eager to hear more, eyes wide and face worried.
“She tried to win me to her side, but I disliked her and made it known. My father told her I needed time. He admitted to me once that he didn’t love her like he loved my mother, that he felt as though he were still in a fog.
Once, he even told me he could barely remember courting Ciara.
He just... woke up married to her. In his grief, his guards and advisors gave him greater latitude, and of course, they hoped for another heir.
They loved my mother, but to die having produced only one son to keep the line going was worrisome, especially since the royal house is what keeps the hot springs flowing.
We are the lifeblood. Father probably thought of that, too.
He was in a fog, but he thought he was doing what was best for his people. ”
Another nod. Jocasta’s silence was waiting for him, unhurried. Accepting.
He still had to ask, “Do you believe me?”
“Of course. I believe everything you say.”
So she believed that I loved her. And perhaps this feeling is what love is. Or else why would I have said it? He winced at how his words had betrayed her, and now he needed her to believe him.