The Winter Queen (RH/Why Choose, MM, MF, MFM, FF) ✅

Chapter Eleven

Gwen

To say I had a difficult night would be an understatement.

I had been fine with the marriage itself. But the thought of her in bed with the old, sickly king?

I had gone back into my room and emptied my stomach into the chamber pot after having prepared her for the marriage bed.

Then I took myself down below to find some ale.

"Gwen," Warwick said, lifting his chalice the size of a bucket to his lips. Clearly, by his heavy-lidded eyes, it was not his first cup. "What are you doing down here?"

"Same as you, it seems," I told him, walking up toward the chalices, and taking one of my own, waiting for Warwick to fill it, then top off his own.

"Never gave much thought to the marriage practices of royals before," he admitted, staring off into the fire across the room, his jaw so tight that a muscle was twitching there.

"Me either," I agreed. "Until her," I added, saying the quiet part out loud. Because, I figured, if there was anyone in the palace I could truly trust, it was Warwick.

"Cast her spell on you as well, then," he said, nodding at me as he raised his drink. "Can not fucking imagine."

"Imagine what?" I asked, taking a big, long swig.

"What it is like to be as close to her all the time as you are, with the kind of feelings you have," he said. "Relax," he added when I stiffened at his words, at the implication found within them. "If it makes you feel more comfortable with me knowing, I can tell you that I have similar unspoken feelings as well. Except I believe your feelings are... exclusive. While mine..." he said, waving a hand out.

I knew what he was saying.

That while I liked women, and only women, he liked men, but also women.

I suspected as much.

There was something in the dynamic between Warwick and Cyprian that had always felt unusual to me.

If they engaged in "unspoken" acts together, that would make sense.

"Here is to the secrets that could undo us," I said, raising my chalice, and we both drank to that.

"Luckily for us, no one will ever know," he said, sighing hard. "I respect the king. I have pledged loyalty to him," he murmured, voice low, even though no one was nearby.

"As do I," I agreed.

"Yet the idea of his hands on her..."

"Yes," I agreed, exhaling.

"Figure if I drink enough of this, I might be able to forget about it."

I doubted that, for both of us, but that did not mean we would not give it a solid try.

At some point, Warwick wandered away.

I had no idea he came back down until I was coming back inside from taking a long, cold walk.

I did not go back to speak with him, finally experiencing a deep drunkenness that would allow me to fall almost immediately to sleep, and not wanting our mutual sour feelings to spoil that for me.

So I went to my room.

I slept restlessly.

Then I got up, got sick, got dressed, got sick, and moved out into the hallway, ready to go get the queen some tea and sweets to hopefully improve her morning, and running right into Florian. The king's highest advisor.