Queen of the Pale Ch. 02

2

High Queen of the North

Three years ago, when Delaryn had first led Rohen into the Whitefeather audience chamber to meet her father, he had been utterly awed by its sheer size and splendor. It was at least a hundred feet long and probably half that wide, which was stunningly large for a provincial keep. Then again, Torisval had once been the capital of Darenthi, and Whitefeather Hold had a more storied history than the palace in Silver Falls.

Aside from an elaborate wooden throne that looked more befitting of a barbarian warlord than a Duke of Darenthi, the chamber was also dominated by three massive statues, one for each god of the Triumvirate. They were probably the only decorations in the entire Hold that wouldn't be destroyed in the ongoing renovations, for obvious reasons. If anything, General Galavir's pious family would likely pay handsomely to have the weathered stone faces refurbished.

The general himself was standing next to High King Thedric Ashellion at the foot of the throne. The two men appeared to be arguing, judging from the tone of their voices, but their conversation stopped the instant the newcomers approached.

"I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty," the guard at the door said with a bow, "but please, allow me to present Lord Protector Edmund Kraythe and—"

"Ah, there you are!" King Thedric called out. A smile warmed his cleanly shaven face and brightened his brown eyes. "By the gods, it's good to see you, old friend."

"Likewise, Your Majesty," the Lord Protector said as he took a knee and silently bade Rohen to do the same.

"Please, rise," the king insisted. "We can save the formalities until after dinner."

Rohen stood along with his mentor, though he kept his eyes fastened upon the king. As impossible as it seemed, Thedric remained even more impressive in person than in the increasingly exaggerated stories of his "grand crusade" to reunite the kingdom. Tall, handsome, and charming, the man was practically a folk tale hero come to life. He was only seven or eight years older than Rohen—Thedric had still been a child when Duke Haldor had started the civil war. Everyone assumed that Thedric had been killed during the initial battles, but his reemergence in the south a decade later had ultimately spurred the rebellion against the Usurper. Thedric had led his army to victory after victory, and the fact he had actually been forced to fight for his family's throne made his rule seem divinely ordained.

The man standing beside him was about thirty years older and thirty pounds scrawnier, though he still had the sinewy arms and weathered face of a career soldier. General Jarec Galavir—soon to be Duke Jarec Galavir—had achieved his own folk hero status during the civil war.

"You don't have to bow for me, either, even though this is my audience chamber now," Galavir said mildly. "I'm still not certain if I like the idea of spending my days listening to caterwauling tharns."

King Thedric chuckled. "You have always been able and willing to do whatever Darenthi needed of you. I can't imagine that will change now."

Galavir grunted noncommittally as he shifted his gaze to Rohen. "So, Edmund...this is your latest charity project, I take it?"

"Sir Velis is a fully trained Templar," Kraythe replied tartly. "Not to mention one of the best swordsmen the Order has seen in a generation."

"How nice for him," the general muttered. "So, pale-blood...I assume you're here to thank His Majesty for sparing your life? You are one of the traitors he sent to Griffonwing, right?"

Rohen's mouth went dry. He hadn't known what to expect here, but he didn't want to argue with Darenthi's most famous commander, especially in front of the king. "I am here to fight and defeat the Chol, General."

Galavir scoffed. "I'm sure you are. Who knows, perhaps those bloodthirsty elves will forgive you for killing your own kind, too."

"That's quite enough," King Thedric said, firing an annoyed glare at the other man. "The Guardian offers redemption to anyone willing to put his life on the line in defense of the realm. If sorcerers can find absolution in the eyes of the gods, surely soldiers can, too."

Rohen's eyes flicked between the two men. He had grown up hating them both, and now he was standing here waiting to do their bidding. It was yet another outcome he never could have imagined just a few years ago.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," Galavir said, still eyeing Rohen as if he were a pile of filth dragged in by his hounds. "I meant no offense."

"Yes, of course you didn't," the Lord Protector muttered.

"Maiden's mercy, the two of you bicker like a couple of old hens," King Thedric said as he turned and smiled at Rohen. "You'll have to forgive the general's rudeness, Sir Velis. He seems determined to make me regret giving him a position in the court."

Rohen smiled back, and he resented the fact it was genuine. "His Majesty is most generous. And I do wish to thank you for giving me the chance to—"

"No, no, there will be none of that," Thedric said, clapping him on the shoulder. "The past is past, and the sooner we all forget the war, the sooner we can move on. The Chol are the threat now, and I will not allow the people of Torisval to suffer more than they already have."

"I'm sure they will appreciate the sentiment, Your Majesty," Kraythe said. "The artificer from the Galespire is already on the way to the front."

"Excellent. Then we shall all feast, and tonight we shall prepare ourselves for the battles ahead." Thedric smiled again. "My wife has been looking forward to seeing you, Sir Velis. She told me a great deal about your adventures together as children."

Rohen's blood froze in his veins. "She...she did?"

The king chuckled again. "Oh, yes. She said you were great childhood friends. You took riding lessons together with Master Haral, I believe."

Oh, those adventures. Thank the gods...

"Uh, y-yes, Your Majesty," Rohen stuttered.

"The nervous stutter of a boy who was often bested by a girl," Lord Kraythe said wryly.

"My Delaryn is quite the rider," Thedric said. "If I'd have allowed it, I've no doubt she would have left the carriage and traveled all the way from Silver Falls on horseback, cold be damned."

"Her Majesty does have curious tastes," General Galavir said, his eyes narrowing at Rohen. "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Her father was all too ready to make peace with Nelu'Thalas. If he'd had his way, Darenthi would be filled with pale-bloods and their...offspring."

"I said that's enough," Thedric growled. "I will not have you stand here and insult my guests."

"My apologies again, Your Majesty," Galavir replied. "As you said, I still have a lot to learn about life at court."

All three other men exchanged frustrated glances with one another. Rohen couldn't believe the king of all people was defending him. Perhaps he had treated Delaryn well after all. Perhaps she had even grown to love him.

Just thinking about it made Rohen ball his hands into fists at his side. A part of him had earnestly hoped that Thedric would be a complete ass in person. Hatred was so much easier to deal with than whatever he was feeling right now.

"Might I suggest we focus on our strategy for the days ahead?" Lord Kraythe said into the awkward pause. "The artificer will begin work as soon as possible. The Pact Army will have more than enough ammunition to confront the horde by the end of the week."

"Assuming the Chol don't simply attack," Galavir grumbled. "Stationing a channeler at the fortress is a mistake. Her presence will only draw them to us sooner rather than later."

"Whenever they attack, we will crush them," the Lord Protector said. "If they are foolish enough to test the strength of our walls, all the better. The battle will be far less bloody if we aren't forced to meet them on even ground."

"Yes, I do understand the basics of military strategy, thank you," Galavir replied snidely. "I would simply prefer to use your pets as bait on our terms, not theirs. With five or six leashed sorcerers, we could lure the entire horde into an ambush south of the cliffs near Dawnbreak."

"So you have told us, Jarec—many times," King Thedric said. "I would still prefer to use the walls of Rimewreath if at all possible, and the Lord Vigilant has assured me that his artificer can provide more than enough arrowheads to get the job done. The roads aren't nearly safe enough yet to risk transporting valuable equipment—inscribing the runes in person will save time and soldiers. Besides, we will need a healer on the front lines to—"

The king turned when the old seneschal's door on the left-hand side of the throne room creaked open. A pair of pretty young handmaidens in flowing white-gold dresses stepped into the room, and behind them—

Behind them entered the woman Rohen had been absolutely terrified to see.

"Ah, there you are, darling, wonderful," Thedric said, extending his arm and beckoning his new wife forward. "Gentlemen, I believe you all know your queen..."

Rohen's stomach sank to the floor. Three years ago, he had firmly believed that Delaryn Whitefeather was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. But then again, three years ago he had also been a love-stricken boy basking in the afterglow of his first kiss. He had assumed—and maybe hoped—that his memories were wrong.

They weren't.

Delaryn was every bit the goddess he remembered, from her long, platinum-blond hair to her icy blue eyes to her slender feminine figure. She was encased in an elegant white cloak with golden trim that spilled all the way to the floor, but the front was open just enough to reveal a cropped blue bodice that accentuated her cleavage and left her toned midriff achingly bare.

Gods have mercy...why couldn't she have been hideous? Why couldn't she have been anywhere else but here?

"Your Majesty," the Lord Protector said, bowing his head and dropping to a knee once again. "It is an honor to see you again."

Rohen followed his mentor's lead, though his knees were so weak he wasn't certain if he would be able to stand.

"Please, rise," Delaryn said. Her voice was exactly like Rohen remembered—sweet but full, with the faintest trace of a northern accent. "If anything, I should be the one bowing before a legendary hero of Darenthi."

"You are too kind, Your Majesty," Lord Kraythe said, offering her a warm smile as he slowly rose back to his feet. "Please, allow me to present Sir—"

"Rohen Velis, Templar of the Guardian," Delaryn interrupted. "It has been a long time."

Her smile was so warm, so gentle, so earnest that Rohen couldn't help but smile back. She looked genuinely happy to see him, and bit by bit the butterflies in his stomach started to settle. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they could just be friendly and pretend that nothing else had happened between them...

"Too long," he agreed, clearing his throat and standing. "I am overjoyed to see you well."

"Oh, she's doing much better than well," King Thedric said, slipping his arm around her waist. "She is positively glowing, don't you think?"

He pulled her in for a kiss, and Rohen couldn't help but look away. This was the moment he had been dreading; this was the moment where he feared he might lose his cool and get himself killed...

Rohen forced himself to take a deep breath and stay calm. The Lord Protector had turned away as well, though he at least forced a respectful smile. General Galavir did neither; his lip curled as if he were about to retch. Members of the King's Court had been executed for lesser slights...but fortunately for the general, neither the king nor the queen seemed to notice.

"For the first time in almost twenty years, Darenthi will have a queen," Thedric said, cradling Delaryn like a priceless Solarian doll while he gently traced his fingers through the silver-white tiara on her forehead. He chuckled softly, then lowered his hand down to her flat belly. "And by this time next year, the kingdom shall finally have a proper heir."

Rohen's stomach turned, and it took every ounce of discipline he could muster not to look away again. Delaryn smiled up at her husband sweetly, breathlessly, as if she were desperate for him to sweep her up into his powerful arms and carry her away to their bedchamber. Rohen knew the look well: it was the last thing he had seen on her face three years ago when she had sneaked him into her chambers right here in this castle. They had kissed for hours, but just when his hand had finally slipped beneath her skirt—and just when her hand had slipped into his trousers—Thedric's army had arrived at the gates and demanded her father's surrender.

Gods, I can still feel her body trembling in my arms. I can still smell the sweet scent of her hair splayed over me. I can still hear the sound of her sobbing when she realized her family's enemies were closing in around her...

After another long, awkward moment of staring into his wife's piercing blue eyes, King Thedric chuckled and gently cupped her cheek in his hand. "I tell you what, my dear: since I know you've been waiting to see your old friend, why don't you give the young Templar a tour of the renovations before dinner?" The king shifted his gaze back to his longtime advisors. "I'm sure the two of you would like to catch up...and the three of us still have a great deal to discuss about the coming battle."

"Of course, my lord," Delaryn said. "Anything you wish."

Thedric kissed the tip of her nose before he finally released her from his grip. "Go on. We'll see you again at dinner, my love. I can't wait for you to sing to us."

Delaryn smiled at each of the older men, her cheeks briefly flushing with embarrassment, before she finally turned to Rohen. "This way, Sir Templar."

Rohen paused, his voice stuck in his throat, and he tossed a quick glance at Lord Kraythe for permission. The man merely raised an eyebrow as if Rohen were being a fool...which he absolutely was.

Clearing his throat, Rohen followed the queen as she floated back toward the seneschal's door and out of the throne room. Her handmaidens trailed behind them just out of earshot.

"I hope your trip from the south wasn't too onerous," Delaryn said once they were out in an adjoining corridor. She slowly led them south past the pantry and kitchens, and even with the doors cracked or closed, Rohen could hear the servants frantically trying to finish preparing the feast.

"It wasn't so bad," he said. "Though all things considered, I would have preferred to take one of the griffons."

"Too cold for them?"

"Oh, no. They handle the chill far better than we do. But it wasn't an option since I had to meet up with the others in Tor's Crossing first. And with Sehris along..."

Delaryn stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "I wish I could have seen her," she lamented. "But Thedric insisted I stay inside. He doesn't want me to spoil in the cold."

Rohen opened his mouth but remained silent. He could hear the genuine sorrow and bitterness in her voice—she sounded completely different than the submissive, lovestruck girl from the throne room a minute ago.

Oh, gods, is she miserable after all? Has Thedric been treating her as horribly as I feared?

"Perhaps I'll have a chance to see Zin and Sehris after the Chol are driven off," she said, swallowing and clearly forcing a tight smile. "Are they doing well, at least?"

"Quite well, yes," Rohen assured her. "No matter how much or how quickly everything else seems to change, I think they're basically the same. He's still a fool, and she's still too good for him."

Delaryn giggled—a sweet, magnificent sound that seemed to warm the entire Hold at least twenty degrees. She reached out and slid her arm through his, then continued down the hall again. "I would give just about anything to see their faces again," she said. "I feel like it's been an age since we were all together."

"Maybe two or three," Rohen agreed. "They miss you—we all do."

Her smile made him feel like he was sixteen again. Back then he'd been little more than a pale-blooded orphan trying to court the Usurper King's daughter. Today he was one of the Guardian's hallowed Templar...yet somehow, he still felt completely unworthy in her presence.

"You look like you've done well for yourself," Delaryn said. "You've gotten taller."

"A little, maybe."

"More than a little." Her blue eyes flicked up and down the length of his six-and-a-half-foot frame. "The armor looks good on you, though it seems like it would be a little...cold."

"You get used to it," Rohen told her.

"Well, I could stand to warm up—and since I'm the queen, you should do whatever I want," she said with a sly grin. "Come, I'll show you my sitting room."

Delaryn led him down the corridor and around the main hall that dominated the center of the keep. The whole time they walked in silence, Rohen couldn't help but marvel at just how easy it still was to talk to her. They hadn't spoken in three years, and the entire world had been tipped on its head since. He was a Templar, she was the High Queen...and yet somehow, none of that mattered in the slightest.

They eventually approached a small, cozy room with a fireplace adjoining the keep's library. An old woman wearing the red robes and oddly triangular hat of a Tel Bator priestess was standing outside, book in hand. She looked up at the queen's approach, her wrinkled face almost immediately turning into a scowl.

"Your Majesty," she said, nodding her head so subtly it was barely even noticeable. "Do you require something in the library?"

"Just some privacy," Delaryn said, turning and gesturing to dismiss her handmaidens. "My husband wanted me to give Sir Velis a tour of the Hold."

"I see," the priestess said, her eyes flicking to Rohen and then down to the queen's arm locked in his. "I wonder if His Majesty would approve of this young Templar's...chivalry."

"Sir Velis and I are old friends, Sister Jorga," Delaryn said. "Now, if you don't mind..."

The old woman didn't move. "Perhaps you should show your 'friend' the chapel instead. He may wish to offer his prayers to the Triumvirate. We shall need the Watcher's strength and the Guardian's resolve if we are to defeat the Chol."

Rohen glanced between the two women. "We could if—"

"Perhaps later," Delaryn said pointedly. "For now, we are going to sit and chat—alone."

Jorga still didn't flinch. Rohen couldn't believe that anyone would be so openly impudent in front the High Queen, even a priestess.

"As you wish," the old woman said eventually. She finally stepped out of the doorway and offered the queen a cold smile. "I will have your handmaidens fetch you before dinner, Your Majesty. It shouldn't be long now."

With a final half bow, the priestess shuffled off down the corridor. Delaryn glared at the woman's shadow for a few moments before she sighed and tugged Rohen inside the sitting room.

"What I wouldn't give to banish that hag back to Silver Falls where she belongs," Delaryn said, closing the door behind them. "She's convinced I'm going to conjure a demon the moment I leave her sight."

Rohen pursed his lips. "Because of...well..."

"My mother, yes," Delaryn said. "I'm the daughter of the Winter Witch. Half the clergy believe I've ensorcelled the king somehow, and the other half think I'm personally responsible for the summoning the Chol horde. I'm not even a sorceress!"

"Old prejudices die hard," Rohen murmured, touching the tip of his pointed ear. "The Templar are more accepting than most, but there are plenty of men in Griffonwing who think the same things about me."