Kastali Dun
Talon stared at Claire and Reyr as they entered the dining hall. His throat turned dry. He watched as they laughed and smiled, conversing freely. Claire's arm was laced casually through Reyr's. She wore a light blue satin gown that cut low upon her chest. Her hair was pinned back behind her, showing off her long neck.
Talon's eyes wandered over her, taking her in. As he watched, his grip tightened around his goblet. It was so easy for Reyr to be around Claire—so effortless. He was not blind to their budding friendship, nor was he ignorant of the deeper feelings Reyr had for the woman. Reyr hid them well, but after centuries of friendship, he read Reyr as no one else could.
He hated his scars more than ever in this moment—he hated the man his misfortunes had created. His appearance and the color of his dragon scales were like a curse. He so often found himself envying others. Even now he envied Reyr as he escorted Claire to her seat. In his mind he envisioned a different scenario, one where Claire walked up the aisle towards him and took a seat beside him. She was royal, so why should she not sit at the head table? Those of royal blood always had in the past. When his parents were alive, he sat to his father's right while his mother sat at King Tallek's left.
He considered telling Claire this and then shook his head. She already hated him. If he forced her to sit beside him during mealtimes, it would not go over well. Moreover, mealtimes would no longer be easy for him with her there.
His eyes remained glued to Claire as Reyr made his way to the head table. At that very moment, Claire's gaze found his. She turned away as if she had not seen him.
"Good evening, Your Grace." Reyr captured his attention, giving him a respectful bow before rounding the table to sit. "You look unhappy, as usual, my king. What is it you wished to discuss?"
Talon looked at his empty plate for far too long before saying, "It is nothing. Forget about it." Truthfully, he wished it was nothing. If he silenced his thoughts, would the issue simply disappear?
"You're lying," said Reyr. "I know you well, remember? I can see the lie in your eyes."
Talon looked away and sighed. "Claire does not look herself this evening. You were just with her. Is everything all right?" He glanced at Claire for the umpteenth time and saw her deep scowl.
"And here I thought you would be more interested in this afternoon's drills," said Reyr, a chuckle rising from his chest. "They went quite well, so you know."
"Cease and desist, Reyr. I received updates from Verath—you know that."
"Yes, yes, I know." Reyr waved his hand in dismissal. "Just giving you a hard time." As he said it, his eyes darted in Claire's direction. "I suppose she does appear rather upset. She had a long day."
He waited until his patience wore thin. "Is that all?" Reyr was hiding something.
The doors to the hall closed with a grinding thud. Servants poured in from the servant entrances, and the room filled with pleasant aromas. Talon's hunger rose. As of late, his appetite had been lacking; the pressure of his position was getting the better of him.
Once more, he glanced at Claire. "I take it her lessons did not go well?"
"You should discuss the matter with her."
"She hates me."
"Do you blame her?" Reyr turned to meet his gaze. "You have hardly atoned for your behaviors."
"I gave her the nicest accommodations in the keep!" he cried. "She has been elevated to royalty. Her every want and need met. What more can I do to make her happy?"
"Firstly, oh king of mine—"
Talon did not miss Reyr's sarcasm, which he often used when trying to prove a point.
"—how can you possibly know her wants and needs if you never talk to her? How can you know if they are met? And secondly, perhaps all that is necessary is an apology."
Talon opened his mouth, then closed it before his frustration got the better of him. He bit his tongue to keep from speaking, and purposefully returned his attention to the commotion in the hall. Reyr was right, as always. The truth was, he didn't have the courage to make an apology. He would rather fly into battle against the Kalds again and earn more scars, than admit to his mistakes. She hated him for his cowardice; he saw it in the way she looked at him, the way her green eyes flashed with anger.
Platters of food were set before him. Dishing up several chunks of meat and vegetables, he filled his plate. Already, he felt his appetite receding at the thought of confronting Claire to apologize; perhaps he ought to stop by her chambers after the meal. The longer he waited to seek her forgiveness, the harder it would be.
"So, what did you wish to discuss?" Reyr asked once more.
He took a bite to fill his mouth and buy time. The meat held little taste. Food possessed hardly any flavor as of late. Reyr sat patiently awaiting his answer. He swallowed the chunk and washed it down with a gulp of wine. Still, Reyr remained silent.
"It was about Claire," he admitted at length. "I..." He sighed. "I do not know what to make of her."
"I am not sure I follow."
"Well," Talon paused to gather his thoughts. "I have trouble being around her; she makes me uneasy. It is hard to explain."
"Forgive my bluntness, but I gathered this already. You need a little practice around women, that's all."
"Practice?!" Talon grunted. "You know how I feel about that."
"Go and see her tonight after dinner, Talon. It would do both of you some good to demolish the barriers you have constructed."
"You know how much I hate that you're always right, don't you? You should be wearing this damn crown, not me."
"For as often as you've said that to me, my answer has always been the same. It remains so."
Talon grunted. Yes, he knew the answer. Part of why he admired Reyr so much was because he always offered wiser advice than Talon could conceive. It was as if he always knew the proper way to act in every situation. As if he could not fail..."You're too damned honorable, you know that?"
Reyr pursed his lips together and turned his gaze upon the hall. After a sip of wine, he said, "No one is perfect, my king, not even I. We all have our faults."
Talon shrugged. "Even so." He turned his gaze upon Claire. She sat conversing with Saffra. Her face still wore the same look of upset, with her mouth turned down and her eyebrows pulled together.
Reyr must have seen his gaze. "Talon, if we are going to cooperate as a team, you cannot continue to avoid Claire. Besides," he added, "as your charge, you should take an interest in her progress. Asking her about her day is a natural thing for you to inquire over."
He nodded but remained silent, keeping his gaze locked on Claire.
As dinner progressed, he decided to take Reyr's advice. Perhaps it was wise to have a simple conversation with Claire. She was his charge; why shouldn't he take an interest in her daily life? For the remainder of the meal, he nervously picked at his food. It was so unlike him to feel this way.
When the guests rose to exit the hall, he kept an eye on Claire. She left the room with Saffra. The two of them spent a great deal of time together. He was glad of this; Saffra's friendship would help her adjust to her new life.
When the hall emptied, he exited through one of the well-disguised servant entrances, a thick stone door that opened directly out into an empty corridor behind the dining hall. He then made his way towards Claire's chambers. His feet tried to dissuade him three times. In each instance, they turned him from his path and took him away from her room, but at last he found himself outside her door.
His breath came in heavy drags. For several minutes he stood there, trying to calm his beating heart while he listened to the sounds within. He heard some shuffling, and then all was silent.
Given Claire's hatred of him, he could only guess that she would dislike his disturbance. That made him further hesitate. He had no wish to make her hate him more. At last, he worked up the courage to knock, albeit louder than intended.
"Come in," came Claire's voice from within the room. He exhaled. When he opened the door, he did so slowly to give her adequate warning. As he entered, he found her sitting on a sofa near the fire, a book in one hand, and a goblet of wine in the other. Upon seeing him, she set those things down and abruptly stood.
"You." Her voice rose several pitches higher. "I mean, Your Grace—I didn't expect to see you tonight." As suspected, he had caught her off guard. She offered him a sloppy curtsey. The clumsiness of her display momentarily dissolved his nerves and gave him an intense desire to chuckle; he held his tongue for fear of reproach.
"Sorry about my attire." Her voice settled back to normal. "Had I known you were coming, I would have worn something more appropriate."
It was then that he noticed she had already removed her evening gown. She wore only her white, lacy chemise. He flushed and quickly turned away to preserve her privacy. "There is no need to apologize," he said, gazing intently at the wall. "I did not mean to intrude. I will come back another time." With that, he rushed to the door.
"Wait!" she cried. He stopped short but did not turn back.
"I didn't mean to scare you away. You obviously came here for a reason." As she spoke, he heard her shuffling around behind him.
A reason? Had he? He could no longer remember. He shouldn't have come.
"Can I get you some wine?" Claire asked. He glanced over his shoulder before turning to face her. She had donned a silken robe to cover her chemise.
"I—no, no wine," he said at last. "Thank you for the offer."
"Have a seat then." She gestured to the sofa across from hers as she sat back down. A book lay open and flipped over beside her, its cover facing up.
He sat but remained aloof, his back straight. It was too difficult to relax in her presence. He was ready to run for the door should the need arise. Claire relaxed a measure. She slouched casually back against the sofa, sipping her wine while curiously regarding him. It made him uncomfortable. He tapped his fingers on his knee, looking anywhere other than her, trying to think of something to say. "What are you reading?" he finally asked.
"Oh." She picked up the book from beside her. "It's something from the bookshelf, children's tales I believe."
"Ah..." he said. As soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself for such an intelligent response. Could he think of nothing better? A long awkward silence followed. He was at a loss for words. Fortunately, he finally remembered what he had wanted to ask. "Did your first day of lessons go well?"
She looked up from her book and shrugged. "I suppose as well as they could have." He waited patiently for more information; none came. It was obvious that she did not wish to discuss the matter with him. After several painful moments, she returned her gaze to the book. He was not sure that her eyes were moving over the words.
Regardless, he used this opportunity to study her. Her captivating green eyes were hidden beneath long lashes. Her mouth was set in a slight frown as she concentrated on the pages. Her golden hair, now removed from its pins, fell in tresses around her face.
As he gazed upon her, he noticed the gentle rise and fall of her chest; his ears discerned each breath she took. She must have felt his regard, for she suddenly looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. He quickly turned his gaze upon the fire in the grate, feigning interest in the flames. After a long silence, she cleared her throat. "Grand Mage Marcel recommended that I pick up a few supplies from the market for my lessons. I thought I would go tomorrow afternoon, since it is a rest day."
"Reyr is accompanying you?" He asked even though he knew that Reyr had obligations to train with the fort.
"Saffra offered. I figured it would be fine."
"Absolutely not. You may not leave the keep without protection."
"That's crap!" She sat rigid, her nostrils flaring as she breathed. "We will be back before dark. You said that as long as I have an escort, I can go into the city."
"I know what I said." His voice began to rise. "I do not trust Saffra to keep you safe—Mage or not. I specified that it was to be one of my own guards if you wished to visit the city." His hand clenched into a fist in an attempt to control his temper.
"Well, I asked Reyr, but he's busy tomorrow. Bedelth is flying sweeps. And Jovari and Koldis just left for Fort Squall."
"What of Verath? Did you forget about him?"
"I—I'm sure he has better things to do than to escort me. Why should I inconvenience him?" She crossed her arms in a huff as she gazed at him. Her eyes began to do what they did best, as they flashed angrily back at him.
He was too irked to cringe under her glare. "My rules are absolute, Lady Claire. Would you rather risk your life than ask Verath?"
"Yes," she snapped, jumping to her feet. "I'm not a five-year-old! Saffra and I will be fine. We're both grown women."
He had half a mind to forbid her from visiting the market altogether, but such extreme measures would not win her over. Instead, he sent a silent command to Verath. "I need you to escort Lady Claire and Lady Saffra to the market after the mid-day meal tomorrow."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
He looked at Claire. "There will be no further arguing on the matter."
"Ugh! I have no freedom here. You treat me like a child. Why are you so effing controlling?!"
"Because it is my job to be!" He abruptly rose from the couch. "Verath will escort you to the market tomorrow. I have already informed him of this. You go with him, or you don't go at all. Your decision."
"Fine," she shouted back. "Is that all, Your Grace?"
The way she mockingly spoke his title made him shudder. It was time to go; his welcome was at an end. "Yes, that is all." He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, eager to be rid of this maddening, frustrating woman!
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