Chapter Text
Irene had no recollection of making the trip back to her own chambers. She presumed that she had accumulated her usual retinue of attendants and guards, no doubt caught flat-footed as she swept from the room. Upon reaching her chambers, she had left them in the waiting room and continued on to her private bedchamber, where she dropped limply into a chair and stared unseeing out the window. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, wondering if they were as flushed as they felt.
With a frustrated snarl she jumped up again and went to peer into the mirror of her dressing table. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink and her lips—oh gods—were they noticeably swollen? Thankfully her hair was in order, and her years of controlling her every expression served her well, for there was no outward sign of the tumult she felt. Perhaps the entire palace would not be speculating on exactly what had transpired between their queen and the Thief behind closed doors. She let out a sound that was part moan, part laugh and sank back into the armchair by the window.
All of a sudden the absurdity of it all struck her and she began to laugh helplessly. The happiness she had felt moments before welled up in her again, and she drew her legs up in the chair, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees. She was certain she was probably grinning like a fool and was glad her retinue had become accustomed to leaving her to her solitude over the past years.
At that thought Irene sobered, remembering the many nights she had sat in this chair, watching the moon trace its slow path from east to west, the constellations spinning in the dark night sky, the stars like diamonds scattered across the blackness. How long had it been since she had been able to appreciate their beauty?
Her thoughts skittered away from the difficult memories, and she understood exactly how Eugenides had felt when he said he wanted to think about the future, not the past. She feared that the past was not going to stay in the past, that it would need to be brought into the light and dealt with at some point, but she, too, was loath to disturb the new beginning they were making.
At the sound of a soft tap at the door Irene sat up straight, brushing down her skirts and resisting the temptation to smooth her hair again as Phresine entered.
“Your Majesty, do you wish to prepare for dinner?”
She sighed. ”I suppose I must.” She sat again, back straight, while the attendant began to loosen her hair from its simple plaits.
There had been no court dinners for the past three days, but now that Eugenides was recovering she could not continue to force the court to dine in their rooms. Ever mindful of her obligations as queen, she knew she would need to make an appearance at dinner, but perhaps she could leave before the dancing. She was in no mood to make polite conversation tonight.
Maybe she would go sit with her fiancé some more, although she thought it would be best to make sure he was asleep or else who knew what might happen? She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threaten to break loose and told herself sternly that there was absolutely nothing amusing about any of this.
“Is His Highness recovering well, Your Majesty?”
Startled, Irene looked sharply at Phresine, who regarded her serenely. “Yes, thank you, Phresine, he is quite well.”
Phresine nodded as she brushed out her mistress’s hair. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Phresine…” she hesitated for a moment, “you…approve of this marriage?”
“I’m sure it’s not my place…” the attendant demurred.
“Likely not,” the queen said dryly. “Nonetheless—I would like to hear your thoughts.”
Phresine finished braiding a strand of dark hair and secured it with a hairpin before speaking. “I believe he is a good man, Your Majesty. And clearly he cares for you.”
Irene twisted her fingers together in her lap, flustered at the unfamiliar position in which she found herself.
“And…” Phresine hesitated to speak so boldly but she forged ahead, “ I think you care for him as well.”
In the charged silence that followed, Phresine no doubt had second thoughts about having been so forthright.
“I do.” Irene was almost startled to hear her own voice. “I do, Phresine.”
“Well, then,” Phresine smiled, ”soon we will have a wedding and a new king, and you a new husband,” and she rested a hand lightly on Irene’s shoulder for a moment before going to admit the other attendants to begin the dressing ritual.
Irene let out a long breath and straightened into her customary regal pose, schooling her features to reflect none of her thoughts. Not soon enough.