C. E. Murphy - The Queens Bastard

Dismay made sharp by anger penetrated Belinda down to her bones, rolling in waves off the men and woman she sat with. Accusation hung in the air; Javier turned his gaze, mild and direct, to Marius.

No, Belinda said before Marius could protest. Hes not at fault, my lord. Even with our queen in exile we know what the heir to our throne looks like. Her voice remained quiet, but sharpened with intensity. We know what the true heir to the Aulunian throne looks like. She felt the passion behind her own words, pure conviction as spoken by a noblewoman whose religion had been suppressed by a calculating and heartless foreign queen. Javier lifted his head sharply, flexing his fingers outward in the same small gesture that had stilled his compatriots. Belinda, abashed, ducked her head and turned her face to the side in apology. Her heart pounded too hard, blood coppery and thick in her throat. She tried to swallow the taste back, but it stayed lodged there, and she realised with slow surprise that she was genuinely afraid.

You are too bold, my lady Beatrice. The reprimand in Javiers voice was as profound as any Belinda had heard from her father or even her queen. It was nothing in the words, themselves innocuous enough, nor the tone, as mild as milk. Rather it was the combination, and her own personal awareness of who it was she faced. That, Belinda thought, was the measure of true power and strength. She hunched her shoulders, her belly tightening, and tried not to squirm under Javiers steady gaze. Finally she whispered, I apologize, my lord, and Javier lifted his chin with satisfaction.

We were pleased with our charade, my lady. Why did you not let it continue?

Belinda dared a glance up, unable to judge from his voice whether the we he employed was royal or encompassed the other three at the table. Elizas dark gaze, unreadable, caught her with a stab of guilt. Asselin, to Javiers other side, watched with a faint smile. Marius would not meet her eyes. Belinda took in a shaking breath and forced herself to straighten her spine. She saw a glimpse of something in Javiers eyes. Approval? Amusement? The other three were more easily read than the prince.

I did not like to begin a relationship under false pretenses, my lord. Internal amusement at her own audacity boiled over for a moment, breaking through habitual stillness. Belinda dropped her eyes, to don the apparel of Beatrice again before she looked up. Had I not recognized you, the power would have been yours to betray, but II prefer an honest hand, my lord. It is, I am told, a Lanyarchan weakness. She quavered a smile, and, not receiving one in return, let it fall away in discomfort.

You might have lied, Javier said. Might have kept up the pretense, confessing great surprise and shock at the truth when it was granted you.

Beatrice, not Belinda, stared across the table at the prince in forthright astonishment. She heard Asselins chuckle, and saw Eliza roll her eyes in disgust. Its not in her, Jav, Marius said from beside her, as quiet as could be. I told you. She hasnt got dissembling in her.

Oh, Marius. The thought struck through Belinda with a bright ache, making her breath catch with its clarity. You sweet, innocent fool. There is no such thing as a woman without deceit, no more than there is a man.

I did not mean to give offense, my lord, she heard herself whispering. I am not good at play-acting. Please. Forgive me if Ive gone too far. Belinda lifted her gaze again, letting it soften in hope and fear. Her father could withstand the pleading expression, but most men, even many women, mellowed under it.

Javier was no exception. He snorted, a sound of exasperation that meant the moment of tension was over, and waved an elegant, long-fingered hand, as if clearing the air of deception. Eliza rolled her eyes again and Belindas shoulders relaxed fractionally. Too clever by half, Marius, Javier said. This ones too clever by half.

Yes, my prince, Marius said with such complete obsequience that it was clear he masked overwhelming smugness. Laughter broke, clearing away the remaining strain that lingered around the table. Javier sighed, leaning forward.

It is occasionally tedious

Occasionally? Asselin asked with a snort very much like Javiers of a moment earlier. Javier shot him a look of exasperation and Asselin widened his eyes in pretended innocence, then made himself ostentatiously busy pouring wine. Frequently tedious, Javier said, acknowledging Asselin drily even as he looked at Belinda, to be royalty, my lady Beatrice.

One corner of Belindas mouth quirked. I wouldnt know, my lord. She tried, very briefly, to reach for the idea of a world where she would know, but she had put away those dreams and imaginations so long ago that it was as if they lay behind a thick glass wall. They were visible, but obscured and twisted by the warp of glass, no more reachable than the moon.

Her male companions laughed. Eliza sat back, sprawling in the booth seat, her shoulder brushing Javiers as she reached for and held her wineglass.

Think of all the aspects you dont care for of nobility, Javier suggested, and multiply them tenfold.

Belindas eyebrows lifted a little. Wealth, a good home, food on my table, warm nights? My lord, even the most dull evening spent embroidering is a vast improvement over sleeping with the pigs. I wed nobility, minor as it may have been, and have found very little cause for complaint in it.

Her eyes were on Javier, but it was Eliza she watched. Eliza whose shoulder pressed into Javiers a little harder, and whose mouth became a thin line. Her gaze dropped, a smirk flaring her nostrils before she looked up again, full of easy confidence and dislike for Belinda. Belinda allowed herself a tiny burst of satisfaction, deep inside. Unlike her friends, the stunning woman had not been to the manner born; gutter vowels and rough words were natural to her, not the cultivated tones shed no doubt learned from Javier himself.

And the prince seemed to hold no awareness of Elizas wordless mockery. Belinda wondered if he had ever seen the other womans real home, whether he could truly appreciate the difference between his station and Elizas. Whether he grasped on any useful level that sleeping with the pigs was not a colourful expression, but that people did it, for their own warmth and to keep safe the lives of animals upon which their own lives depended. Belinda did; Belinda had lived that life more than once, out of necessity. But that was Belinda, and not the role she played; Beatrice had been born landed, and not come from a place that low. Belinda could see no way to use the common experience as a bridge between herself and Eliza, not without damning her own persona as a liar.

Javier, as Belinda watched, leaned back into Eliza with the affection one might show a large dog: rough and tumble, awareness of her presence without acknowledgment of her astounding beauty. Belinda thought she was right: years of exposure had dulled the men to their companions comeliness. She doubted very much that Eliza was equally unaware of the princes charms.

He wasnt as pretty as Marius. The ginger hair and accompanying complexion lacked Mariuss warmth and ruddy health. His eyes were yellow in the firelight, absorbing its color rather than holding forth with any of their own. He was more delicate, more elegant, than the young merchant sitting at her side, and next to Asselins sturdy form he looked elfin. Eliza, at his other side, made an excellent dark mirror to his grace; if she were nobility, Belinda imagined they would already be wed. She thought Eliza might imagine the same thing, and was sure the idea had barely crossed Javiers mind.