Chapter Text
Alexia walked slowly down the hallway that would take her by the study where the Bannorn negotiations were happening.
Of course, officially, the negotiations didn’t start until that evening, in the throne room. This was simply an informal conversation over drinks after lunch. And anyone who believed that lovely fiction didn’t have a hope of surviving in Bannorn politics in the first place.
Parth, one of the banns involved in the meetings, was currently holding a grudge against Alexia over some petty disagreement with Fergus. Foolishness, but not worth adding another complication to the already touchy land disputes. So she’d left Alistair to handle these pre-negotiations on his own. Which he was entirely capable of doing after five years on the throne.
But even so, it wouldn’t hurt for her to stop by and check in.
The door to the study was partially cracked, probably left unlatched by a servant bringing drinks who would need to enter again with full hands. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Alexia paused by the gap, hoping to overhear enough of the conversation to have a sense of how things were going and what she would need to be prepared for later.
She didn’t have to strain to hear the voices on the other side of the door, booming and jovial, all of them male. Another reason Alexia had thought it might be best for her to sit out of this after-lunch gathering. The laughter struck her as a good sign; finding common ground on even trivial matters should ease the negotiations once the difficult questions arose. Wanting to get a better sense of the direction of the conversation and the forming alliances, she lingered, trying to make out words.
“My compliments on the brandy, your majesty.” A pause for a drink, followed by a sigh of contentment. “I’m surprised you got the queen to allow something so strong this early in the day.”
“Pah!” And there was Parth, his scorn at the mention of her reinforcing Alexia’s decision to absent herself from the gathering. “I don’t see the Cousland girl around anywhere to say what the king can or cannot do.”
“There we have it.” Alistair sounded dry, weary. “An afternoon free from the old ball and chain, and I can drink what I like.”
The men laughed, chiming in with their own stories of henpecking and overbearing wives. Alexia stood frozen at the doorway, listening well past when she ought to have gone, and every burst of familiar laughter, every dry observation or frustrated huff, hit like a dull blow. Bruising rather than fatal, but sure to cause a hurt that lingered.
She’d heard men talk about wives this way, of course, but she’d always imagined those were arranged marriages, poor matches that suited the families more than the participants. She’d never imagined her own husband would talk about her that way. That Alistair could think of her that way. Did Alistair really think of their marriage as an obligation, a prison? Had he come to resent her that much? He’d been distant in recent months, always so busy and tired as the pressure of ruling took its toll. All of which could be laid at her feet for forcing him onto the throne, saddling him with a host of responsibilities he’d never wanted.
Another bark of familiar laughter, followed by a jest she tried not to hear, something about feeling like a mabari let off the leash for a few hours. She blinked away tears that couldn’t be there, selfish, foolish tears unbecoming a Cousland or a queen.
She could do nothing about the obligations of the throne; it was far too late to change that. But if he wanted some space, some freedom from her constant, overbearing presence, that she could provide.
Turning away from the door, shoulders back and hands carefully not clenched, Alexia nearly walked into a servant arriving with a tray holding - oh, yes, look at that - another decanter of brandy. The woman bobbed a hasty curtsey, which Alexia tried to accept graciously.
“Can you pass on a message for me?”
A startled blink. “Of course, your majesty.”
“It’s not worth interrupting the meeting, but when they’re finished, would you tell the king I’ve gone to check in at Vigil’s Keep? Tell him that I’m confident he can handle the Bannorn negotiations on his own, since he’s clearly doing well without my input.”
The servant looked wary, but she nodded. “I’ll tell his majesty what you said, highness.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance.”
Letting the woman return to her task, Alexia strode down the hallway at a quick pace. If she hurried, she could be packed and away before he even knew she was going. Before she had to look him in the eye with those words ringing in her ears.
.
Arriving at Vigil’s Keep, Alexia felt like she could breathe again. Shedding the gowns of court for her familiar platemail, she settled into the routine of serving as Warden-Commander. Her days were filled with scouting patrols, training sessions, and unguarded conversations. She could be herself at Vigil’s Keep, could speak her mind without worrying how her thoughts might be used against her or who her words might hurt.
Her evenings, once the reports were read and the correspondence written, were usually spent in casual, late-night chats with an old friend. Nate had always understood her, and they shared common history, reminiscences that provided a comfortable escape into memories of a simpler time. Any pain she found in those memories was the dull sort, wounds of loss long healed over into scars of grief that twinged but no longer incapacitated. On nights when the reports and correspondence kept her occupied late into the night, Nate was content to sit in the Commander’s office with her and share the work. He insisted it was his responsibility as her trusted lieutenant, and she never tried too hard to deter him. They rarely spoke on those nights, but the silence of a room with Nate not talking was far more comfortable than the emptiness of one that held nothing but echoes of her own thoughts.
As the days stretched into weeks, Alexia remembered more and more how Nate had always been someone she could trust, someone who knew her thoughts well enough she didn’t have to struggle to put them into words. Being with Nate was easy, safe, and she treasured that simplicity right now.
.
Nathaniel smiled into his mug as Alexia punctuated a story with a broad sweep of her hand, probably less steady and more exuberant than she intended. The cider had gone to her head tonight, inspiring laughter and openness. The flush on her cheeks suited her, as did the wide smile and sparkling eyes. Evenings like this, full of conversation and companionship, had been something he dreamed of as a youth, when he expected to inherit the arling and hoped to have Bryce’s headstrong daughter for his arlessa. He sometimes felt like these nights had been plucked from the Fade, his longings made manifest.
Sitting in his mother’s favorite study in his childhood home, it was easy to think nothing had changed in all of the years that had passed. Spending the evening talking over drinks from the family wine cellar, it was easy to imagine he was still the noble he had been born and raised as, arl after his father and grandfather before him. Smiling and relaxing with Alexia Cousland, it was easy to remember there had been a time when he had loved her and planned to marry her.
Alexia leaned into his personal space to share a confidence, and it was the easiest thing in the world to close the remaining distance, to kiss her.
She stiffened at the contact, and Nathaniel questioned his rash impulse. He moved to pull away, constructing an apology in his head. Before he could begin to set his mistake right, Alexia leaned in, pressing her lips more firmly to his, and all thought vanished from his mind.
Her mouth tasted of cider, sweet and intoxicating. She clutched at his shoulder, holding him close, her tight grip just short of painful. Alexia’s desperate need spurred him on. She drew a shuddering gasp when their lips parted, and he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, undoing the buttons at her collar to expose her throat to him. Alexia tilted her head back, giving him access, and her whimpers encouraged him to continue.
Her eyes were tightly shut, and she bit at the inside of her lip. Nathaniel couldn’t help wondering what sounds she was holding back, emerging only in those soft, desperate whimpers. Maker, she was beautiful, her rigid control cracking under his mouth and hands. How long before it shattered altogether?
He slipped free the remaining buttons of her arming jacket, exposing a linen shirt underneath, so thin he could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. His hands settled at her waist, the hem of the shirt riding up to expose skin, soft and warm against his palms. The contact sent a jolt through him, and he made a guttural noise in his throat as he sucked on a sensitive spot beneath her ear. Unable to resist seeking more, he slid his hands further beneath the fabric, reveling in the feel of her skin. When he hesitated, unsure if this had gone too far, Alexia arched her back, pressing closer against him, and that was all the permission he needed.
One hand at the small of her back and the other sliding up her ribs, Nathaniel leaned her back onto the couch, following her down, desperate to maintain contact. It was awkward and graceless, but that hardly mattered. He ended up propped on one elbow, hovering over her with her breasts grazing against his chest with every breath. His mouth sought out her throat again, revisiting the places that made her gasp or whimper, and his hand explored further under her shirt. Alexia clutched at his shoulder blade with one hand, the other fisted in his shirt where she had caught a grip for purchase when he shifted their positions. Her leg hooked over his calf, holding him close against the full length of their bodies. Groaning, Nathaniel ground against her - he was hard, had been hard - eager and fumbling, feeling like an untried virgin with the first woman he had ever desired.
As his questing mouth reached her collarbone, Alexia’s hand slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him up for a long, passionate kiss. When the kiss broke, she buried her face against his neck. His pulse leapt in anticipation before he realized her uneven breaths were strangled sobs rather than eager gasps, and her cheeks were wet with tears.
Nathaniel rolled to his side, cradling her against him on the too-narrow couch, desire eclipsed by concern. “Lex, what’s wrong? Tell me I didn’t hurt you. What’s going on?”
“We shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” Her voice came out hollow and broken, the first words she’d said since he kissed her. “I’m using you and betraying him.”
His fantasy shattered, and reality crashed in through the haze of the alcohol. This wasn’t his childhood friend, the girl he had dreamed of marrying, hoped to make his arlessa. She was his commander and queen, another man’s wife. His actions had been utterly selfish, thinking only of his own desires, and he had no right to hurt her like this.
He would have moved away entirely, giving her space, but she remained close, forehead pressed against his chest as she shook with silent sobs. Stomach twisting with guilt, he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, a feeble apology for his transgression. “I’m sorry, Lex.”
“For being the first person in months to care about what I need?”
He winced at the raw pain in her voice, the bitter resignation. “I’m sorry that I am, yes.”
Nathaniel gingerly disentangled himself from her and eased off the couch, standing and offering her a hand. “Come on, let me get you to bed.”
She froze, her arm partway extended towards him, a look of panic on her face.
“Alone, Lex.” He sighed, hating himself for having created that fear in her. “I only meant that you need to rest. If you had enough to drink that this seemed like a good idea, even momentarily, then I don’t envy the headache you’ll have in the morning.”
Grimacing, she allowed him to pull her to her feet with a brief murmur of thanks, then drew her jacket closed, focusing intently on redoing the buttons to avoid meeting his eyes. He let her have the space without comment, waiting until she was composed, physically and emotionally.
He walked her to her room, the two of them passing through the familiar halls in silence. What was there to say? He couldn’t imagine how he would begin to make up for this betrayal of her trust, but any words he found tonight would be woefully insufficient. From her tense, hunched shoulders and clenched jaw, he wasn’t sure she would have heard anything he’d said anyway.
Alexia paused at her door, her hand extended towards the latch. With a tiny shake of her head, she turned to face him, shoulders slumped and face weary. She stepped forward into a hug that caught him by surprise. “Thank you for always being such a good friend, probably better of one than I deserve.”
Before Nathaniel could even begin to think of a proper response to that - she was thanking him? now, after what he’d done? - she released him and stepped back, still never quite looking him in the eye. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Good night, Nate.”
As the heavy wooden door closed behind her, he heard Alexia let out a strangled sob, sounding broken and heart-wrenching as her composure finally shattered in the privacy of her room.
Flinching at the sound, knowing that he had caused this and hating himself for it, Nate spun and pounded his fist against the stone wall. He used the side of his hand, not hard enough to break anything, but the jolt of pain provided a welcome distraction. The spike of endorphins faded quickly, taking the remaining buzz from the cider with it, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. Sick with despair, he leaned his head against the wall beneath his arm. Maker’s blood, he’d screwed up.
After all these years, all of the idle fantasies and hopes, Nathaniel had never thought he’d regret finally kissing her.