Cale needed to calm down. She needed a fucking drink–a real one, not the one's she pretended to have to please her adoring detractors. She used to drink for real when fooling them, it was better to do so and left less possibility to be found out, but she hadn't drunk a drop since her pregnancy.
At first it was of course about the safety of the baby. She couldn't and wouldn't do anything while Penelope was in the womb and she'd actually lived in the most docile state she'd been in since she was a child. And then when she was breastfeeding there was not a single drop in her system, she couldn't risk any harm coming to her precious daughter.
After that it just hadn't felt right.
Penelope was nearly two when Cale decided it ought to be safe to drink again, especially since she needed to act worse than ever to keep Penelope safe.
Her tiny little nose scrunched as she looked up at her mother and with clear teal eyes that always seemed to see far more than she should, Penelope declared that mama was stinky.
Cale hadn't touched it since. Sometimes she risked being called stinky by her daughter by splashing it onto herself but Cale wouldn't drink.
It was fine. She'd always been relatively sober when she threw her fits, she had an impressive alcohol tolerance after all. The only difference now was most of the time she drank water or tea from various suspicious looking bottles.
It had actually become quite a fun hobby. Emptying out a wine bottle only to brew tea inside of it with her daughter, experimenting with all the colors they could create with the ingredients. What taste profiles they could find with a little more honey or just a dab of lemon because she felt nostalgic for home.
Cale rarely felt a desire to drink at all. It never did much for her to begin with. But she liked the ritual of it. There was something about chugging down the finest wines like beer and sneering at all who watched before throwing the damn bottle at the head of the nearest thug.
It was a stress reliever to drink and fuck she needed to release some stress.
Alberu's impervious smile as pretended to care about Penelope's well-being was sickening to her stomach. The bastard never let his mask slip, not even once, showing just what a duplicitous scumbag he truly was.
Cale might have been able to understand the hypocrisy of hating her husband because he always concealed her true self if it was pointed out to her. But it was unlikely she'd give in even then, likely to cite that it was different because he was pretending to be a good person and that was far more dangerous than pretending to be trash.
It wasn't actually a sensible argument but Cale wasn't actually a sensible person.
Cale escaped the confines of the camp, throwing a broach at the face of the first escort who attempted to follow her and hitting him with pinpoint accuracy and discouraging the rest from following.
There was an unspoken rule in the palace not to follow the queen when she was in a throwing mood. It was a good way to get a lot of bruises and still fail at whatever job you were attempting.
Cale slumped ungracefully by a tree when the sounds of camp sounded distant enough.
She just needed a break.
Her hands still shook.
She couldn't tell Alberu that Penelope hated him on her own. What if that shallow man started to treat her coldly? What if Penelope lost his fickle affections and was treated with disdain by her own father?
She might hate Alberu but she didn't want that for Penelope. Never.
Cale curled up miserably, hiding her face in her knees as her shoulders heaved with shuddering breaths.
But if Alberu continued to believe that Cale was behind it, he would make good on his promise to take Penelope away. Cale had used every bit of strength she had to maintain custody of her daughter but ultimately–Alberu was the king. Should he decide to tyrannically steal her daughter, what could she actually do to stop him? It wouldn't be so horrible if she could trust him but she couldn't.
She gripped the dirt with clenched fists, ruining the lacy white gloves that adorned her petite fingers.
She knew what sort of man Alberu was. He only liked Penelope as a momentary entertainment and then–when he'd grown bored of her–he'd leave her alone.
"...never... I'll never allow that despicable bastard to take my daughter."
She felt like crying but she wouldn't. She couldn't.
She wasn't so weak as to weep pathetically with just this. She needed a solution.
She needed to learn the real reason why Penelope was so cold with her father. It was true that the shift had been sudden, so sudden that it concerned Cale. Alberu was right about one thing, Penelope was only four years old and it was rare for four year olds to act so coldly towards their parents.
Then again... Cale smiled to herself. Her Penelope had never been a child restricted by what a normal child might do. Sometimes it was worrying, sometimes it was impressive, but none of it lessened her adoration for her daughter.
'...perhaps... it is me...' Cale didn't do much to hide her disdain for Alberu. It fit well into her act and she never lied to her daughter about her relationship with him. They were essentially strangers that were married with a poor impression of one another.
Did she have to treat Alberu kindly? Was that the only way to encourage Penelope to give him a second chance?
She didn't like the idea of Penelope trusting that snake of a man but... between that and having her taken away or treated poorly by that bastard of a kind... there simply were no good answers but this was the only answer that wouldn't place any pressure on Penelope.
She wasn't going to tell her daughter something as sickening as 'you have to pretend to like him' or 'you ought to love your father'. If Penelope genuinely hated the bastard, she wouldn't force her to pretend.
Cale's bad habit in life was to take all of the pressure from those she loved and carry it on her own shoulders instead.
"...are you crying?"
Cale's gaze snapped upwards and she was quite tempted to take the dirt she'd been gripping and throw it into his disgusting face.
It was even more upsetting that he'd actually managed a quite believable facade of concern. His blue eyes reflecting in the moonlight with worry and regret. His mouth pursed into a delicate frown that frankly looked better on him than that fake ass smile of his.
Cale looked him coldly in the eyes. "Unfortunately, your majesty, I'm not a fucking toddler so I don't cry so easily. Disappointed?" She asked, letting out a huff of derision. "Were you hoping to make me weep like a little bitch just because of a few words? How disgusting of our great king to have such a disappointing hobby. And to be bad at that as well? Ha! It's adorable."
She wanted him to leave.
She needed to collect herself. To regain her composure. She needed to come up with a sensible plan to keep Penelope safe and happy. She needed time away from the painful aching in her heart whenever she thought about this stupid bastard.
"I only spoke the truth." Alberu said calmly, some of his concern dissipating.
'Good. Show just how shallow your compassion is. It's easier to hate you.'
"You need to stop hurting Penelope or there will be consequences."
It burned.
It always burned.
Back when she was only a child and played the part of trash to protect her younger brother and people accused her of hurting him instead.
It burned because all she ever wanted was to protect them.
She could admit that it was a sloppy decision but she'd been a child and it was the best she'd been able to come up with. Her father hadn't taken responsibility to protect him and so she'd had to.
Cale never minded any of the vile assumptions others made about her except for that one.
The burning of the thought that perhaps she really was hurting them. That everything she'd ever done was for nothing and she was the abusive monster she pretended to be.
That Penelope would be better with a different mother.
That everyone she loved would be better off if she'd never existed at all.
It burned and it ate up at the remains of her soul and tore it up.
She glared at the miserable shallow political bastard who had no idea what he was talking about, ready to spit venom at him and share this burning.
"I came to apologize. I might have been speaking the truth but my words were too cruel."
"Ha!" Cale's laugh resounded through the trees.
What a shallow apology.
She lost her temper.
Cale didn't get along well with her husband, or really anyone at all these days aside from her daughter, but it was true that her hatred and anger was mostly an act. She never felt true annoyance or disdain for the servants or the guards, she never even hated those politically minded serpents who attempted to slip into collusion with her.
She found them unpleasant and she dealt with them efficiently but she was so rarely truly angry.
Perhaps that was why it was so hard to control herself now that the true emotion had found a vice grip on her heart.
"You don't mean that." She kicked out a leg, sending the crouching king onto his butt with one firm kick. She could be beheaded for such treason and she didn't care. She stood up, pressing her heel against the startled king's stomach and glaring down at him. "You care about Penelope? That's cute. You're a lying piece of shit." She applied pressure, watching in satisfaction as he winced. "Tell me, Alberu Crossman. What's her favorite food?"
The blank look she received was enough for her to bark out another laugh.
"Did you know? You're even worse than your father in that way. I remember all the talk about what an unloved bastard you were growing up. All the pitiful ways that you were ignored and degraded and how amazing it was that you rose to power without even your own fathers love. But at least that scumbag didn't pretend like you do. Didn't get your tiny heart lit up with hope that maybe daddy loves you." She laughed cruelly and bitterly and maybe she laughed at her own pathetic state as well.
She wanted to hurt him.
Unfortunately, she succeeded. In one swift movement, Alberu had grabbed her ankle and dragged her to the ground beside him, pinning her down and glaring down at her startled face. "You don't know anything."
"I know your mother would rather die than raise you!" She spat spitefully, spitting at him with everything she knew about him. "What was it like, growing up with no mother? No one to comfort you when you failed, again and again and again?! No one to slap some sense into your pathetic father?! No one there for you at all?!"
Alberu's gaze was full of as much hate as her own and it felt good to manage to rip away his mask, if only for a moment.
At least until he spoke.
"Are you referring to me or yourself?"
It was worse than a slap.
Cale's fists clenched as she searched her extensive vocabulary for words vile enough to describe him.
It was true.
Cale had no one.
She'd divorced herself from her family and burned every bridge between them. She had no friends. No love. Nothing of her own.
She had Penelope's love but she knew that was merely because children tended to love their parents, even vile parents who didn't deserve to live at all.
She was used trash who's only mark was her ongoing failures to do anything but barely protect her child. Barely protect her step family. Barely comfort her grieving father.
She knew in the depths of her heart that she was alone. And that mother would never be there to comfort her and say it was all okay.
Perhaps the despair showed in her face because Alberu's expression changed as well. The hate drained away and was replaced by pity.
She hated that.
She didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not his.
She'd once mistaken his pity for something like affection.
She'd since learned to separate the two and understand that she didn't want something so shallow and fickle from him.
She laughed at him but the bite was gone and her laugh was hollow.
"Good job, your majesty. You've remembered the bare basics that neither of us have a mother." She crooked her head to the side wickedly. "How does it feel to be as lowly and disgusting as I am?"
It didn't fit her trashy arrogant act. It didn't fit her act at all. The sincerity of her self-loathing was too much and it burned just as everything else had with a miserable certainty.
"We're not the same."
She barked out another empty laugh.
Of course. Of all the things he chose to respond to, it would be the repugnant idea of being similar to her.
She wanted to drag him down. To make him feel just as pathetic as she did. To force him to acknowledge what a wretched bastard he was.
"Aren't we?" She asked, a dirtied glove delicately gripping his collar and pulling him down so that he was nearly nose to nose and could see her eyes. "No, you're right." She smiled and it was one of her dangerous smiles. "We're not the same at all. At least I don't lie the way you do. Pretending to be perfect and kind when you're just an ambitious bastard beneath that shell. Pathetic. Are you that desperate to be loved?"
"Why do you lie then?"
The question caught her off guard and her pupils shook with fear as his blue eyes pierced into her. Had he noticed her own deceit? For how long?
What did he know?
Her lips curled up miserably. "And what lie is that, your majesty?"
"You're smiling again." He said and it was a very simple statement of truth. "But aren't you actually crying?"
How repulsive.
How disgusting.
How mortifying.
"Oh my, back to that habit?" She asked but the tremble had returned to her hands. "I'm starting to think you like the idea of making me cry."
He was so close that she could feel his warmth. Just like when he'd caught her when she tripped. Just like the night they'd spent together.
Cale needed a drink. She really did. She needed the stress relief that came with it and the ability to forget about her troubles for only a few minutes.
That wasn't the only way to relieve stress though, was it? She grinned crookedly.
Well, he was her husband. What other good use was there for him? She certainly wasn't going to rely on him for emotional support.
But she sure as fuck wasn't going to be the one to initiate anything.
His eyes also flickered to her lips and she smirked mercilessly.
She just didn't want to feel as she did right now. She craved that comfort that she couldn't get. Craved the feeling of being wanted, desired, loved–and if that last one was impossible, she could make due with the first two.
"I have no intention of making you cry." He said and his voice was so pointlessly serious.
It slipped out without her intending it. "Isn't it a little fucking late for that?"
She didn't realize what she'd admitted until his eyes widened.
No–she didn't want him to ever know she'd cried because of him. Never. She'd suffer any indignity but not that–
"When...?" His voice was so soft and worried that she almost felt like believing it. Her heart shook and she knew all at once this was a foul idea. Seduce him? For what? A momentary pleasure that would do nothing to relieve her woes? And from the man who wanted to take her daughter from her?
She pushed him away harshly, sitting up in the dirt as he allowed himself to be pushed away from her. She hated that.
She hated everything about him.
Her smirk shook as she glared at him. "What a sadist you are. Do you want to pleasure yourself with the memory?"
He looked revolted by the suggestion. She craved that. It was so much better for him to look revolted by her than for him to look at her with such soft and insincere kindness.
If she believed him then she'd have to suffer all over again.
"You say the most wretched things." He stood up, dusting himself off and glaring down at her and there was unmistakable pity in his eyes. "It's the reason you'll always be alone."
"And what about you?" She shot back rudely. "Do you have anyone who even knows who you are behind your shell of lies? How long before you crumble to your own loneliness and desire to be loved, my king?"
She was proud to say that her words appeared to shake him.
In a moment though, his expression closed off and even the disgust was gone. Just his politically distant expression that brought bile to her throat.
He held out a hand to her. "We should return."
She wanted to smack his hand away and insist that she'd never go back. Never go anywhere with him.
Penelope was there though and her daughter had been left alone for too long.
How merciless was life...?
All she'd wanted was the time to dissect her feelings and calm her nerves. Come up with a plan. All she'd wanted was rest.
All she wanted was assurance that her daughter wouldn't be taken from her. That she wasn't a horrible mother. That her daughter loved her and she wasn't alone and wretched and pathetic.
He'd stripped her of all of that. And all in the name of an apology.
She was in too wretched a state to accept her own part that she'd played in the misery between them. Alberu was a unique existence to her like that. So many other people she had no trouble at all accepting her fault, after all, she had taken on the role of a villain purposefully.
But there was just something about Alberu that made her bitterly unwilling to accept she'd hurt him.
Perhaps because he was the only person who was adept at hurting her.
"...you return without me." She said, turning away from his hand.
She couldn't go now.
She might actually cry this time and that was too unacceptable of an indignity for her to tolerate.
"Cale–"
"I thought I told you not to call my name." She seethed, gripping the dirt and glaring down at the ground.
She hated it.
He only ever used it when he sounded so sweetly concerned about her. A honey sweet lie that she would never swallow.
He kneeled in front of her again and she was tempted to kick him to the ground again, just so that the lesson would stick this time that she was in a kicking mood.
"Penelope will be worried."
She winced and she hated that he was correct. Still, she didn't want to return with him. She just wanted one moment to breathe in peace.
One moment without her heart throbbing so miserably behind her chest.
"My legs hurt." She said flippantly, looking up at him with feigned disinterest. "I walked too long in heels. I need to rest my feet."
She expected him to leave or in the worst case, sit down at her side and wait until her feet were 'better'.
She hadn't anticipated him lifting her up into his arms and standing up in one swift movement.
"Did I give you permission to touch me?!" She hit his chest and it was a hard enough blow that he winced from the force.
"We should have the healer look at your ankle." He said, eyes ahead as he began the trek back towards camp.
She hated him.
She hated him so much. Hated how even with all his clear hatred and disgust for her, he was so determined to play the good person that he'd carry her back like this.
It was disgusting.
Perhaps it was the misery bubbling up inside of her that made up her mind.
How horrible it felt to be treated lovingly by a man who didn't mean it? Why shouldn't she teach him what it felt like?
She'd been so sickened by the idea of pretending to get along with him for Alberu's sake but–wouldn't it only be fair to give him a taste of what it felt like?
Cale had never wanted to stoop to his level but she'd stoop to any level for her daughter.
A crooked smile took over her face as she hid her face against Alberu's chest.
If she'd been allowed the time to think then perhaps she would have been able to come up with a solution that better suited all parties involved. Unfortunately, she hadn't been granted such time and now Alberu would suffer the consequences.
He ought to have listened to his daughter's advice.