“Perfect timing, Spahen!” Gemma said, half shouting over the crowd.

“Gemma, who is the lady sitting with the king?”

“Ah! She is the king’s mother, the dowager queen, Ustrina Rex. She is a very impressive lady, don’t you think?”

“Quite stunning,” Spahen agreed distractedly, his mind honing in on the new target.

“Would you like to meet her?” Gemma asked, much to Spahen’s surprise.

How convenient. They were overdue for a lucky break. “Would you introduce me?”

“I’d already intended to.” He smirked and beckoned Spahen to follow him to the platform stairs where palace guards were gatekeeping access. Gemma withdrew a note of some sort from his pocket to present to the guards, and the pair were granted access.

At the top of the stairs, more palace guards, perhaps bodyguards, halted them until the queen gave a slight nod, and Gemma entered the queen’s presence with a deep bow that Spahen copied. The king had already descended the platform apparently; he was conspicuously missing.

“Your Majesty, may I present to you Councilman Brennen Spahen from the Bear Tribe?” Gemma provided the introduction, and the queen’s eyes swept over him without the slightest turn of her high head or shift in her rigid posture, giving Spahen the distinct impression that her attention was granted only as a benevolent condescension to the select few. Yes, “aloof” was the right word. Aloof and intentionally detached.

“Take a seat, Councilmen.” Silky. Authoritative. Cold. Very cold.

There were chairs off to the side to help themselves to, and Gemma led the way, collecting the chairs and setting them both to the right of Her Majesty’s throne. Gemma began to take the seat immediately next to the queen.

“Not there, Gemma. What is the point of your introduction if I cannot converse with him? Trade seats.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Gemma groveled immediately, and the queen flicked her fingers dismissively at him, her head still unturned, her posture still statuesque.

Spahen, reading Ustrina’s impatience, took the vacated seat immediately, then stoically paralleled her forward-facing position, assuming a softer version of her strict, upright demeanor. And he waited, letting her take a good look should she want to before initiating a conversation on her own terms. At long last, she turned her face to him, and Spahen mirrored the action, meeting Ustrina’s eyes for the first time. Brown eyes, beautiful eyes — icy and severe but curious — stared back at him. There was cunning in her gaze and a perceptiveness that would be difficult to fool. And there was something else too — something… elusive.

After a moment studying each other, Spahen smiled easily and respectfully tipped his head to her, turning back to observe the crowd below with Gemma fidgeting uncomfortably on his other side.

“Look at me,” Ustrina demanded after a moment, and Spahen complied, returning his gaze to hers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such blue eyes before.”

“You haven’t met many bears then,” Spahen took the risk of teasing her. Her eyes narrowed, but her lips quirked to one side.

“Blue eyes are indeed a known mark of the Bear Tribe,” she eventually mused, and something subtle changed about the way she held herself. Her posture was still exact, but her movement was more relaxed. And she actually moved, her torso twisting to more fully give Spahen her attention. “Are all bears so… still?”

“They are not,” Spahen replied with a smirk, deliberately building upon the tease by not elaborating, and unconsciously adopting her language patterns.

“Tell me about yourself, Brennen Spahen.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Something interesting,” Ustrina said, raising a single eyebrow.

“Alright. The study of comparative cultures is one of my hobbies. I am especially fascinated by culturally significant themes and values in art, storytelling, and law.”

Ustrina’s smirk broadened into a smile. “Yes. That is very interesting. And what have you learned about the Lion Tribe since coming here?”

Spahen matched the luminosity of her smile and rotated in his seat to face her properly. “The Lion Tribe culture prizes beauty, high quality products, hospitality, feats of strength and courage, and salacious drama, especially between lovers.”

She laughed, a crisp, melodic sound, like the chinking of crystal, that matched her perfectly. “You are quite right, Councilman. I’ve heard reports that you have little patience for the impropriety of our Lion Tribe drama.”

“I suppose that would depend entirely on the nature of the impropriety,” he quipped, and Ustrina returned to studying him curiously.

“You are very guarded in your manner of speaking. You speak efficiently, imply much, and confirm little. What are you hiding?”

“Careful, Your Majesty,” Spahen laughed, enjoying the odd banter. “Do not mistake simplicity for complexity where there is none.”

“Are you truly so guileless?”

“Would you be disappointed if I said ‘yes’?”

“Well, are you?”

“You’ll have to discover that for yourself,” he smirked. “Frankly, I doubt you would believe an affirmative answer, while a negative one would seem proof to the contrary.”

“A point to you.” Ustrina simpered, returning her gaze to the party in front of her. Her face quickly became stern again, and something flickered behind her eyes. “The blithering fool,” she hissed under her breath.

“Sorry?” Spahen probed gently, and Ustrina schooled her features to appear more pleasant, though her eyes remained cold and fixed on the dance floor.

“What do you think of His Majesty, the king, Councilman Spahen?” she asked tightly.

His expression registered mild surprise, and he began searching the room for what had caught her attention. “In what sense? As a person? As a man? As a leader? As a ruler?”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“Just, you’ve spent significant time in his company as a member of his council. What is your opinion of him?”

He found the king in question in the crowd near the orchestra, animatedly talking with a woman who, from this distance, was only recognizable as such by the dress she was wearing, and the long, silky, golden waves tumbling down her back. Spahen frowned, picking up on the double entendre in the queen’s inquiry and feeling uncomfortable that he would be required to have this conversation. “He is… young, Your Majesty.”

“Young?” She laughed lightly, her eyes still focused on her son. “Are you not yourself young?”

“Perhaps the youth of which I speak has less to do with years lived and more to do with maturity and wisdom acquired.”

“Indeed? You consider yourself wise and mature then?”

“Hardly,” Spahen snorted with self-deprecation.

“Then in this case, what is it that makes you say ‘he is young’?”

“Hm. There are three sources of passion in all men: the mind or logic, the heart representing love, and the groin, lust. Youth tends to favor the latter two over the first.” His philosophical answer earned him a brief, side-eye glance.

“I see. And which, would you say, does His Majesty favor?”

“Well, the heart, of course! That is not an inherently bad thing, but it has its obvious pitfalls. In time, he may yet learn to use his head.”

“Hm,” Ustrina hummed, her lips pursing in thought mingled with disgust and…. It was still elusive, but it was there — a bitterness perhaps? Spahen found it intriguing… and vaguely terrifying.

While Ustrina scowled at His Highness, Spahen took advantage of her engrossment to study the details of her appearance. Her dress was a rich material with elaborate embroidery stitching white rose vines onto black satin. She wore multiple necklaces of varying lengths: a short, gaudy piece heavily embedded with diamonds and precious onyx stones, a mid-length string of milky white pearls, and then a long chain bearing a dagger pendant that fell into the negative space of her plunging neckline. Her dangly earrings sported charms marrying the roses of her dress with the dagger of her pendant into a single motif.

And something about it fit.

“Your earrings are quite unique,” Spahen said. “A rose and dagger?”

“The earrings are one-of-a-kind, yes, but the symbolism is far from it,” she explained benevolently. “Great beauty and great pain often go hand-in-hand. As one who enjoys studying the themes and values in foreign tribes’ art and stories, you may notice that this is a common theme in Lion Tribe folktales, though it is often subtle and buried beneath other morals.”

“Like the tale of Caelus and Lamia?”

He’d earned her interest, and Ustrina met his eyes with a smile in hers. “Exactly.”

“You would certainly know if beauty and pain go together.”

“Oh?”

He maintained willful eye contact. “Forgive my audacity for asking, Your Majesty, but has your own incomparable beauty been a source of pain?”

“Are you trying to flatter me?” Ustrina laughed.

“I’m making an observation.”

She leaned an elbow against the high armrest of her seat, bringing her hand up to cradle her chin in the most casual posture Spahen had seen from her yet. Her brown eyes looked up at him through long lashes and arched brows. “You are quite brazen to say such things.”

“The question stands,” he prompted again. “Have you found that your beauty has brought you pain?”

“... Yes.”

Spahen nodded in respectful acknowledgement of her answer and turned to watch the crowd below, his eyes drawn immediately to where the Lion King was trying to coax Beta onto the dancefloor. She obviously wasn’t happy about it, but when the orchestra began to play a waltz, Callida grudgingly accepted the king’s hand, her heavy, velvet skirts swishing fluidly around her long, slender frame. And the dance floor opened up to give them room.

Ustrina was an unparalleled beauty; Beta was anything but. But while the queen was glamorous, wearing excessive finery to accentuate her natural beauty, Callida was stunning for the bold simplicity of her style and because of the glowing confidence and raw power that veritably oozed out of her. From the queen’s vantage, it was easy to see how Beta might be threatening, especially in the arms of a young king who was utterly devoted to her — even if only platonically. And it made sense how the nobility might see an inappropriate relationship where there was already obvious chemistry, trust, and affection. In fact, had he not known Beta quite so well, he might have bought into the speculations of an affair between the king and his general. They were so… harmonious together.

Spahen shook his head, dislodging that thought immediately. The fact was, he did know Callida, and she wasn’t that kind of person. That’s why she could carry herself with such unadulterated confidence — because her integrity was above reproach, even if she was the only one who knew it.

***

He crashed through the bunker doors, relief only approximating the mind-altering emotions flooding his system when he caught sight of her gold hair shimmering in the far corner. Back from the brink of death, not missing, not dead…

“Callida.” She was busy buttoning up her uniform, faithfully answering the call of duty and asking clarifying questions about what was going on. Steady. Dependable. Trustworthy. The one true constant in his life. The one thing he couldn’t bear to live without. The one person he loved more than his own life. “Turn around.” She began to protest. “Turn around, Callida.” He could barely see her through the tears blurring his vision.

“Verum? Who–?”

“YOU! You wonderful, stupid idiot!” He gave in to the desperation; he already knew that he would. His hands captured her face and drew her in, her arms bracing against his chest as she toppled into him. The feel of her weight against him… The smell of oranges in her hair… The warmth of her lips pressed to his…

“Verum–”

“Shut up and let me kiss you!”

His hands at her waist slid beneath her doublet, his palms gliding over her thin shirt and pressing firmly against the toned musculature beneath. With the taste of her lips already on his tongue, the anatomy of her throat became too tempting to resist, and his mouth greedily ravaged every part of her he could make contact with. Her back somehow braced against something hard and sturdy, and it became easier to satisfy his frenzied hunger now that pressing himself against her didn’t push her over backwards.

“Verum, please.” She coughed, a violent hacking that reminded him why he’d been so panicked to find her in the first place.

He paused, waiting for her to look up at him again. “Are you alright?” She nodded, and a less violent version of his earlier relief tugged on his tears and filled him with a deep, loving tenderness.

And they were in his room — somehow — her kisses as passionate and intense as she was. “Verum.” It was a whisper, and it sent intoxicating shivers down his spine. His mouth attempted to swallow her soft moan… she whimpered, her body responding to the rise and fall of his kisses… she tasted like desire… just like he remembered…

“Callida, I love you.”

He felt her lips smile against his. “I love you too.”

And it was all wrong. This isn’t how things had happened; she’d never said it back. She would never say it back. This was a fantasy.

Just a fantasy.

He tried to convince himself that he was wrong even as he struggled to cling to the fading dream, and when his eyes finally opened again, she was gone. But the gutted feeling of the floor being ripped out from under him was painfully real.

Verum laid in bed, very much alone, struggling to reconcile the dream with reality, and he hated that he still wanted her so much despite years of stringently disciplining and dismissing those feelings. Persuading Callida to dance with him had been a mistake — holding her had been a mistake. Staying up late talking with her after the ball had only compounded that mistake. Callida might be able to completely shut the door on their intimate past, but he’d never be able to achieve the same level of professional detachment. The recent, frequent quality time was nudging his ajar door wide again. And feeling her between his arms, smelling her hair, gazing into her warm eyes….

That was despite the fact that he had developed a genuine love for Flore — though a different sort of love. That was despite knowing that Callida would never, ever even consider him in that way ever again. And that was also despite the fact that he hadn’t tortured himself with thoughts like this for a long, long time. So even though he knew it was all just a fleeting fantasy of his unconscious mind, he still felt guilty because it meant that he hadn’t stopped loving her.

And he knew that he probably never would.