- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Online Availability
- I have a shifting work schedule, so My online times will be random.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, scifi, futuristic modern, fantasy modern, Action/adventure, Mystery, Fan-based,
Anton froze as she stepped up to him and placed her hand on his chest. What is her game? His ears tuned to every word his eyes peering into her own and at her lips as she spoke by turns. He didn't understand. How could she have gone from an innocent child on the threshold of womanhood to this - this playful minx without him seeing it. Had he been so wrong in his initial estimation of her character? Or had she been a quick study and learned how to play since then. If so who had been her teacher? Had he done so unintentionally himself?
He did not doubt her words were true, that she had told him honestly at least a part of what she wanted and then left him with a riddle. That riddle. What did it mean? What did she want? What was it he was supposed to offer that she did not posses?
He watched the door for a long time after she left, her image and voice burned into his mind. It was with a sinking realization that he suddenly knew that he could not be the man Queen Anne had described. He had abandoned that path long ago. There was only one thing for it . . .
"I'll just have to fake my way until the wedding bells ring."
He sought his bed then, glancing first at the little mirror on his table, wondering if he shouldn't fill Saurella in before he slept, but some part of him whispered that he was not up to playing her games as well as the Queen's, not without sleep first. So he put the call off, climbed between the sheets, and closed his eyes.
For the first time in a long while he began to pray to the Gods. Not for the kingdom's prosperity, or success in his endeavors at an alliance without war, or even the motivation to behave honorably, but that sleep would claim him quickly and Queen Anne would not haunt his dreams.
"No, it's all right," Nicoli quickly tried to correct himself at Diana's apologies, albeit kindly, "it's just a sore subject and I --" but the next moment the Queen had entered and the knight was left to feel horrible at the discomfort his own blundering words had caused someone who had only meant well. He owed Diana and apology and he knew it. He would do everything he could to assure her the fault was his own, but it would have to wait as the state Anne seemed to be in had put him immediately on his guard.
He had not missed that manner of her dress, no man could, but what concerned him far more was her sudden downing of the wine. Did she go to see the king clothed thus?! and nearly drunk as well? or is the drinking his fault?
Had she entered smiling his reaction might have been far different. He would have had to restrain himself from admiring all he saw, and wishing on some level it might have been for him. But as the situation was, with Queen Anne in such obvious distress, there was only room for the thought to flash briefly across his mind before it was taken over with concern.
He removed his knee from the stool, sitting straighter, as the Queen took the space across from him, then watched in alarm as she dismissed someone who so clearly cared for her as she began to pace. Nicoli made a point of returning Diana's worried look with a nod. He would do what he could.
"My Queen?" he asked, carefully rising to his feet as the door clicked closed. "Highness? Something has distressed you." He approached her hesitantly and uncertain. This was not a situation he was used to, comforting someone, or at least not someone not of the guard. A solution escaped him, and the best he had to offer was words. Technically that was all he was allowed to offer.
"Perhaps it will be better if you eat something? I was told you had not had dinner and a full stomach does much more for clear thought and comfort than a wine fumed head. I do not envy the headache you will have if you do not." He very carefully and gently reached a hand for her elbow, attempting to guide her back to a seat. "Please, Your Grace," he continued softly, "at least have a cracker or two. And if you will - tell me how I can ease your burden?"