ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

The sun had taken its leave to rest, fading from gold to black, and now he was to do the same as well, fade into sleep as the sun had done, but his evening’s meal had to come first before his rest. He dared not sleep on an empty stomach, his mother would not have it if she heard. To her he was still nothing but a child, one she feared for its health, and he knew that those worries she had were no one’s fault but his, he had made himself fall in exhaustion and no doubt made her worries grow in return.

Supper, they had called it, and for all it was, but only a few graced the hall at the moment. Before the trestle table at the east of the Small Hall sat the only person on that end, Dante, his mouth set on munching the bowl of mortrew stew he had been served, along with the verjuice to help wash it down his throat. They had all been served the same thing, but Dante was a man that did everything with a tad grace of etiquette, and even his eating was of no difference. With each spoon of the stew thickened by honey into his mouth came a deft chew before a swallow, and after that, he would take up another stew into his spoon, repeating it a whole; he did not rush his meal, not at all.

That was not the same for Thaddeus who sat alone at the western table. Before he was done chewing, he would dip another spoon of the stew into his mouth, and dip and dip, until he could dip no more when his cheeks had swollen like a gourd, then he would wait and chew completely and swallow, then drown a cup of water down his throat before continuing his frantic dippings. No one rushed him but he himself, and Thalia was not here to reprimand him; Zephyr knew he was to do that in her stead, but he was quite occupied at the moment. Thaddeus was not a child, at least that was what he always said, he should be able to handle himself.

“Not to your liking?” Zephyr asked, his question and eyes turned and directed towards the woman who was seated to his left on the high table, his to-be-queen, Audrey. He noticed that she had not touched the spoon which had sunk into the mushy depths of the stew she had been served—even though her eyes seemed to embrace it—but instead she kept taking occasional sips from her goblet of verjuice, clearing her throat warmly with each, and it made Zephyr uncomfortable.

They had both not said a word to each other since they had arrived in the hall. Audrey had been present before him, he was the last to come, and after their words of greetings he had grown silent, she had grown silent, and the hall had grown silent, the only sounds coming to his ears from time to time were the ones of wooden spoons on wooden bowls and the ones of swallows, his own one of them. He was the one to talk, he knew, and now he awaited her reply as soon as he had finally done just that after he finished his meal and drowned it with a drink of verjuice, his eyes squinting from the drink’s strength every time his tongue tasted it.

And she replied, “I hope it will when I taste it, but right now I can barely do that. I scarcely eat when my mind is troubled, Your Grace.” Soft and dulcet was her voice, just like the linen gown that graced her body with a colour the same as her artfully tousled hair.

“Zephyr,” Zephyr corrected coolly, that had to come first before any other, but now that he had done so, he continued, “and what is it that troubles your mind?” He unclutched the goblet he had been holding. “Is it anything of much concern?”

She turned her eyes to him. It was the first he had seen them up close, a bewitching sky-blue they were, warm and alluring as it gazed at him, and it would little doubt be the same for any other who saw it. His eyes blinked a slight fervour as he inhaled softly but sharply when she opened her mouth to speak. “If I may speak truthfully, Zephyr…?”

“You always want to speak truthfully,” Zephyr rode over her with a smile, “and I will always be all in for it. You can do as you want at all times, you are my queen, never forget that.” His words were honeyed, even so in his past life. Where he had learned to be such a way he could never put his thumb on it, but he did not mind it still. A way with tongue was a vital trait for a king, his father had told him once, only it was not king the man had said, in his father’s own, the place of king was overtaken by the word gentleman. Now that Zephyr thought about it well enough, maybe he had gotten such a trait from his father. The man sure had a way with his tongue that he could remember well.

Audrey shut her eyes for a brief moment, and as soon as she opened it up with an exhale, she let the words she held dear slip. “Why was I chosen to be your queen? I made mention of the nothingness I had to offer the throne. What could you have possibly seen or heard that I had to offer you, to offer the throne and the kingdom? This is what I want to know, Your Grace… What do you want from me?”

Zephyr drowned in silence for a while before leaning over the armrest of his high seat and whispering to her, “I want nothing from you but the comforts you have to offer.” And after he said that, the hall seemed to grow even more quiet than it already was, so much that he could almost hear the hard thumps of Audrey’s heart bellowing from between her breasts. She was flushed, he could see, her face reddened too brightly for anyone with a pair of eyes to miss it.

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He could not stay here any longer. Zephyr took to his feet and turned his back to her after saying, “If your stew stays any longer untouched, it will grow soggy. Might as well eat it while it’s warm.” After his talk, he strolled down from the dais, his body shrouded in his sleeping garments of grey linen tunic and breeches, the cold seldom getting to him by dint of the burning sconces hanging from the walls and the ever blazing hearth grounded at the apex of the Small Hall.

It was his brother of ten he first approached as he came down from the dais. “Thaddeus,” he muttered with a smile, but the young lordling that thought himself an adult did not look up from his food. He was almost done now, a few more spoons and that was it. “Go slow, you eat like a child.” And Thaddeus’ hands stopped with a shock. There was a pout on his little brother’s face, or maybe it was just his mouth full, Zephyr was not sure which, but at least he made him slow down his gobbles. Calling Thaddeus a child was a foolproof way to rein him in, the words made his body itch. Zephyr let a grin on his face as he put his hand on his brother’s hair and ruffled it. He turned and made his way to Dante’s table next, that one already done eating and was now wiping his lips with a napkin.

“Your stew remains,” Zephyr mentioned.

Dante looked up at him. “Might be I am no longer hungry,” he said with the welcoming smile he always had.

“Might be so,” Zephyr answered with his own smile while he took a seat beside Dante. Since putting ease to his never ending thoughts of the suspicion he gave others, he had begun to experience less weariness and more sight had been given to him to see the good in those close to him, and if he was asked who he felt was the most good, aside his mother, Thalia, and his brother, Thaddeus, his half-brother he seated beside now would come in next. He was as good as they come and sometimes Zephyr had no choice but to wonder why, seeing as he was from the other branch that regarded his claim to the throne null and void. But he had chosen not to dwell on such thoughts so much, those were the beginning of his weariness, and like his father used to tell him: If someone was good to you, repay them with kindness… but was what he was about to say to his good half-brother an act of kindness of any sort?

“Should you have left her all alone at the high table?” Dante questioned as he gestured Zephyr with his head to gaze up at his queen. She was eating slowly, one spoon at a time, quite gracefully but surely uncomfortably. “She knows no one here yet, you should be keeping her company until she does, you chose her to be your queen after all. And I heard she has a steward, can’t see him around. What do you know about that?”

“Might be he slept off or decided to eat in his bedchamber.” Zephyr shrugged.

“You did not ask of him?” Dante’s eyebrows pinched in wonder.

“That I did not do.” Zephyr clicked his tongue. “A mistake?”

“A sure one, brother.” Dante shook his head and let drop his napkin. “Caring for her steward is the same as caring for her. Might you show whoever that is more care, then her affection for you might grow as well. Or you do not want her affection?” Dante turned to Zephyr, his deep brown eyes waiting eagerly for an answer.

“Why would I not want her affection? She’s to be my queen, her affection is something that I would most definitely want and cherish, and besides if she does not grow to love me then I shall hate myself for taking both her freedom and love away,” Zephyr told him, then took a drink of his verjuice after, his eyes squinting sourly in response.

“I thought so too.” Dante peeled his eyes away from Zephyr and anchored it forward onto one of the sconces that hung on the wall straight before him. “I remember you telling father something similar when we were boys, he smiled then, it was one of the only times he blessed us with one of his warm smiles,” Dante smiled as well too at the thought, “I’m glad you have not changed. Father never liked the prospect of marrying people against their will, he tagged it a stupid thing, forcing people to discard their chance at exploring genuine love all for the sake of the political stands of their household did not leave a good taste in his mouth, but he said the kings had no choice, they had to live by that rule, he had to live by that rule, and since he had no choice but to adhere, the least they could let him do was choose his bride himself, that’s the way he chose my mother, the same way he set it up for you to choose your queen as well.” Dante turned once again to Zephyr. “But the love taken from the chosen bride had to be returned, he said, so make sure you give her enough, brother, do not make father sad.”

But what about you? How will you take what I am about to ask of you…? Zephyr thought sullenly as he watched Dante rise to his feet. He was bitter after listening to all his brother had told him, but there was no choice, was there? This was the only way. He had to be and act the king.

“I want you to wed Lady Eira’s daughter… for the sake of the throne.” The words tore through his mouth scornfully as though he had pulled a branch of coral tree filled with spikes from between his lips.

As Dante halted with a sharp inhale, Zephyr took his eyes away ashamedly, avoiding whatever demeanour his half-brother wore. He could not look at his face. What has he done? What has he said? The same prospect was what he offered to him, the same prospect the late king did not have a gooding for. It was a sharp pain to his own side, so much he wondered what it would be to his half-brother.

“Not a problem, Your Grace,” Dante said, his voice low and sharp.

Zephyr snapped his gaze back to him and he saw his half-brother’s face then, a light smile was spread across his cheeks as though he did not mind, but Zephyr could see through it. He could see the sourness that lingered layers between Dante’s dark-brown eyes, he could see it all, and he loathed himself for it. He had chosen to be a king rather than a brother, something both the late king, his father in this world, and his father in his past life would have no applaud for.