Chapter Text
Liralia had expected something more to change after the wedding than simply her bedchamber, but she had no greater insight into King Baida’s motives: the barrier of formality remained between them. A part of her had worried that once they were married, Baida would move on from her condescension to more active reminders of her power, in much the same way that her uncle had begun by only watching her when she had come to court, and progressed to physical threat after his wife, Lady Kationa, passed away in her last attempt at childbirth. There was, of course, still time for that to happen – but it seemed that the new king might not have such plans. Her behavior was, in fact, utterly perplexing.
Erevar, on the other hand, felt that her plans were moving forward at the perfect pace. The princess – king’s-wife – must have been awed by the commanding nature that even the Devranese soldiers respected, and Baida had made sure to offer her some sort of gift at every meeting. A pleasant northern estate, remote from the capital, for summer visits; a promise of a harvest festival for her to preside over; the suggestion that the two of them make a state visit to Peshnal before the rains; trinkets she had acquired in her travels across the continent.
But after a week, it seemed to Erevar that these were not having any sort of effect on her wife. She accepted them with a nod, a curtsey, and a “thank you, my king,” but she detected no weakening of the defenses. What did she want? A soft smile of pleasure, those lovely eyes glancing directly up into hers in surprise, perhaps a gasp and an informal exclamation. Did her wife have some other lover, she wondered – she was beautiful enough to attract them, and resentment at being separated from them would explain her stubborn refusal to warm to her husband. A stab of jealousy went through her and she shifted in her chair by the fire, then reflexively looked over at Liralia, seated across the room as a handmaiden combed out her long, dark hair.
The two shared a bed, as was appropriate for their situation, but had yet to consummate the marriage. For all that the former general preferred to conquer armies in a decisive push, she was firmly against doing so to a lover, and was reasonably content to lie beside her on the feather mattress until such time as the king’s-wife had been seduced.
Liralia, on the other hand, considered herself well-prepared for a loveless bedding – well, she’d been expecting to be married off since she was fourteen, when King Hervandi had begun to use her betrothal as a weapon in his armory. She was rather surprised that it hadn’t happened yet, and supposed that Baida Erevar was simply unwilling to bother with her any more than was necessary. It was clear that her spouse viewed her as a way to hold and display power, and that was …
It was unfortunate, as King Baida was the handsomest woman Liralia had ever seen. In other circumstances, she would have been extremely pleased for her marriage to have been arranged with such a person, particularly, if she were honest with herself, to end a war. That it seemed not to be was a bitter note that she found herself contemplating daily.
Once the handmaiden had finished plaiting Liralia’s hair, she curtseyed and gave a small smile to her mistress before leaving; she never spoke frankly with her maids, but they could see that she was not the sort of wife she wished to be, and she was grateful for the small support they gave. She was about to raise herself from her chair and put herself to bed when the king suddenly strode across the room and knelt at her feet with a vigor and earnestness she’d never displayed to Liralia before.
“I can’t go on like this,” Erevar said after a moment in which she tried to gather her thoughts and failed. “I can’t – I want – I don’t want to bother you, but I have to ask. Is there any hope? For me?”
Liralia likewise attempted to gather her thoughts, and likewise failed. She sat, frozen and silent, for a long moment, staring at her own knees in their nightrail – this was not the King Baida that she had come to know, arrogant and self-assured and uninterested in her opinion. “What?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know how to say it,” Erevar said, suddenly helpless; how was having a simple discussion with her wife so much more difficult than planning and executing a pincer maneuver? “I don’t … I’ve been making sallies for days, and they don’t seem to have had the effect I wanted. Is there – if there is anyone else, I understand, and I won’t stand in your way.”
None of this made any sense with the narrative that Liralia had deduced, and she found herself still unable to reply. “Sallies?”
“The gifts – I want to give you whatever will make you happy, I just can’t tell what it is. I’ve tried everything I can think of, but I will give up if you tell me to.”
Something hurt inside her chest, and Liralia put a hand up to press at it without thinking. “Those gifts were for me?”
Erevar frowned. “Yes, of course, who else could they be for?”
“I thought …” It seemed stupid now, but it also seemed time to confess. “I thought that they were not gifts, but orders. The estate – somewhere I could go when you didn’t want me at court; the visit to your emperor, a way to display the subjugation of Devran.”
It was suddenly very obvious to Erevar how each of her offered gifts had been an insulting affront. What had she been thinking? Well, she had never really been in this position when it came to courtship … “No! I swear on all my men, I only wanted to give you things – the things that you deserve.” She recklessly plunged forward in a way that she would never on the field. “I would drape you with gold and jewels until you couldn’t stand, and fill up a stable with destriers for you. Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t want destriers … I would fill up a stable with palfreys for you to ride!” She had risen up on her knees in her vehemence, and only then noticed and sat back on her heels, watching Liralia’s face anxiously. Did she seem mad, unhinged? Like she saw her wife as a possession to be bought? How did people express themselves?
Liralia opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Really, this was extraordinary, beyond anything she had ever expected! “I … I …” When had her eyes become so wet? She shot up to her feet and struggled a few steps away as the king stood more slowly, with a wary look in her eyes. The composure she always prided herself on had deserted her utterly, and she covered her mouth with one hand.
“It’s hopeless, then,” said Erevar, dully. There had probably been a better, less frantic way of putting her feelings. Probably the king that Liralia should have married – the real king, born to royalty – would have been able to confess the love he felt without terrifying his wife. Her ears dropped and she crossed her arms, rubbing at her biceps in a semblance of an embrace, subconsciously seeking out some kind of physical reassurance, and so she was completely unready for Liralia to turn around and fling herself at her.
“I’m sorry,” Liralia breathed, clutching at Erevar’s sleeves. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t understand –”
“It’s not – it was not your responsibility to understand, it was mine to –”
“Yes, but it should have been obvious given that –”
“No, no, I won’t hear of it!” Erevar insisted, laughing a little in a shaky way. “From this point on, we’re to consider the fault entirely mine.”
“I shall consider it another of your gifts to me,” said Liralia, “perhaps your kindest yet.”
“Absolutely not. It’s your gift to me, second to the gift of yourself at our wedding. Oh, if you could only know what I thought when I unwrapped you.” By this point, she had uncrossed her arms and taken her tiny wife in them instead, which felt like their truest purpose, and she rested her chin on Liralia’s head. “By the gods, you are a wonder.”
“Perhaps we might talk more in bed?” Liralia asked shyly. Then, looking up, she finally wore on her face that sweet smile that Baida Erevar had hoped to see for so many days.