Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
“London, what is the hour?” I inquired, for I had lost track of time completely.
“Just after midnight.”
We skirted the Business District, which lay to the east, occasionally hearing loud laughter or singing emanating from a pub, or catching sight of a drunken patron staggering home. The closer we came to the palace, however, the more it quieted, until the clacking of our horse’s hooves on the cobblestone was the only sound cutting through the night.
I leaned against the Elite Guard, closing my eyes and allowing myself to imagine I was with Narian, remembering the first time he had come to my balcony to steal me away from the palace. We had ridden together through the quiet streets on that beautiful winter’s night, then talked until morning in the Royal Stables, and I had never felt so content with someone or so safe.
I had become so enraptured in my vision that I was disoriented when London brought his horse to a halt and assisted me to the ground. We were not at the palace; instead, the stables loomed before us. At first I was bewildered by this, then surmised there would have been no groom to take charge of the horse had we ridden to the courtyard gates. I waited while London tended to his mount, then walked with him to the front of the palace estate, trying to ignore my throbbing feet, unwilling to request that he carry me. As we approached the gated entrance into the courtyard, we were hailed by the Palace Guards who stood sentry, but like the City Guards before them, they recognized us and hastened to admit us.
“King Steldor will be relieved you are safe, Your Majesty,” one of the men remarked. “He has patrols out searching for you.”
London led me forward, and in the light of the torches illuminating the gateway I saw him cock a cynical eyebrow. I was still too tired to display any type of reaction, although inside I seethed.
We walked up the white stone pathway through the Central Courtyard, and I thought the lilac hedges on either side of us had never smelled so sweet. The Palace Guards at the front doors pushed them open for us, and I stepped at last into the light and warmth of the Grand Entry Hall, enormously relieved to be home.
Galen and two of his men stood toward the back of the entryway near the antechamber, speaking in urgent tones. There was little activity in the palace at this hour which allowed their words to easily carry.
“Shouldn’t the captain be informed, sir? Surely he—”
“Are you suggesting a breach of the King’s specific orders?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Besides, I believe the captain will have gone home by now and I should not like to be the one to rouse him from bed.”
It was clear from Galen’s words that Steldor had not informed his father that I was alone outside the city, my whereabouts unknown.
“Queen Alera!”
Galen’s head snapped around at the call of my name by one of the guards with whom he was conferring. Worry visibly drained from the sergeant’s face, and the tension left his stance as he realized that I was indeed home.
“Thank God.” Galen’s words were hardly more than an exhale, a quick prayer born of relief. He reflexively moved toward me, but stopped to bark an order to his men.
“Notify the King at once, and then resume your usual duties.”
Returning his attention to me, Galen took in my fatigued and disheveled appearance.
“Are you all right?”
To my surprise as well as Galen’s, London stepped in front of me. “Is she all right? Let’s think. She’s just spent hours roaming the countryside, hungry, parched, cold, lonely, scared that she’d never find her way home again, or that the Cokyrians just across the river would come over for some pleasant conversation, but yes, I think she’s perfectly fine, don’t you?”
Galen was speechless, but he was saved from stuttering out a response by Cannan, who emerged through the guardroom that opened onto his office, presumably having been disturbed by the commotion.
“What is going on out here?” the captain demanded, and although Galen was plainly startled that his commanding officer was still in the palace, he took a step toward him, as if seeking protection from London’s wrath.
At that moment, the antechamber doors were pulled open, and Steldor strode into our midst.
“Ask your son,” London spat in answer to Cannan’s query, tilting his head in the King’s direction, displaying his typical lack of regard for protocol or authority.
Cannan turned to Steldor. “What is this about?”
The King stopped in his tracks but did not otherwise react to finding the captain in the entry; neither did he address the question.
“Oh, Father,” he said, with a slightly contrived chuckle. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’ve been talking with some of my battalion commanders,” Cannan volunteered, ignoring for the moment his son’s evasive response.
“You needn’t have come to investigate,” Steldor continued, proceeding toward me. “Everything is well in hand. No need to interrupt your meeting.”
Cannan caught Steldor’s arm as his son made to pass him by.
“My men can wait until I get an answer to my question.”
“And what question was that?” Steldor asked, voice honey sweet and innocent, an attitude belied by his irreverent smirk.
There was silence as the two men stared at each other, a matched pair with hair so dark it was almost black, and deep brown eyes, although Steldor’s features otherwise resembled those of his beautiful mother. Galen was on edge, while London, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, was relishing the voiceless battle of wills. The Palace Guards who stood sentry tried not to look at their King and their captain, never having witnessed father and son at odds, but I could not seem to focus anywhere else, riveted by the confrontation taking place before me.
When Steldor’s sly smile had at last faded, Cannan spoke, drawing his son closer, his voice low and ominous.
“Do not play games with me, Your Highness.”
Steldor had until this point been matching Cannan’s glare, but now his eyes flicked away, showing his wariness of his father.
“Fine,” he muttered, disgruntled yet obedient. “Will you let go of me?”
“Very well,” the captain said, releasing his son. “Now answer me.”
It seemed unnatural for Steldor to be so subdued, and I could tell he did not appreciate that his father was getting the better of him. A slight flush had crept up his neck, but whether this was an indication of embarrassment or anger I could not ascertain.
“Alera left the city. When I went after her, she refused to come back with me. I sent men to find her, but she’s only just returned with London.”
“And did she leave on foot?” Cannan queried sardonically, taking in my manner of dress along with the remnants of leather that had once been my shoes, and I suspected he had already worked out what his son had done.
“No,” Steldor muttered.
“Then what happened to her transportation?” Cannan’s tone was terrifyingly controlled, every syllable enunciated perfectly.
“She took King Adrik’s horse, and I…I brought it back with me.”
The words left Steldor’s mouth slowly, as if reluctant to condemn, and Cannan turned to address the Palace Guards who stood sentry.
“Step into the courtyard until I send for you.”
The guards departed, caught between wanting to witness the looming altercation and running away from it, but not having a choice either way. After the door had closed behind the men, Cannan stepped to within a foot of his son, and I imagined that it was taking all of Steldor’s strength of will not to flee. The captain, always an imposing figure, was particularly fierce, his mounting anger visible in the tightening of his muscles. He seemed to grow taller and darker as the seconds passed. I had only once before seen him like this—when Narian’s father, the Baron Koranis, had demanded that his son be removed from the country estate that I had just visited.
“Am I to understand,” Canna
“Yes, sir,” Steldor replied, with hesitant honesty.
“Do you have any idea how much danger you put Alera in—you put yourself in? The Cokyrians are pressing our borders—”
Steldor interrupted him with a haughty laugh, surprising me with his audacity. “Surely you know by now that I can take care of myself. I was never in any danger.”
Cannan’s reply was swift and merciless. “Need I show you the graves of the hundreds of Hytanican soldiers who could also take care of themselves? You’re not God, Steldor. I took an oath to protect you with my life, and I don’t want to die defending your arrogance!”
The captain’s words echoed in the vast entrance hall, and Steldor bowed his head, attempting no rejoinder.
“It’s one thing to compromise your own safety,” Cannan continued, dropping his volume, although his tone was no less severe, and I understood that he was reprimanding Steldor not as a father but as the captain charged with his and my defense. “But you put our Queen at the mercy of countless dangers, including that of the Cokyrians! She does not appreciate the risks posed by leaving the city, but you know better than to desert her.”
For a moment, it appeared the fight had been won, and Cannan took a step back, presumably to return to his office. But he did not do so, and I wondered if he was anticipating a response from his son.
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Steldor suddenly shouted, gesturing with his hands in frustration, and I realized that the captain had moved to avoid being hit. “What you’ve said doesn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t come back with me! Should I have knocked her out or tied her to the horse? She is the most stubborn, most aggravating, most exasperating woman I have ever met!”
“That’s irrelevant,” Cannan contended, without so much as a blink of an eye. “When you were unable to convince her to return, you should have sent guards to protect her. Immediately, not several hours later. And you should not have gone after her in the first place without guards to accompany you.”
Cannan waited for this to register, and when Steldor attempted no further defense, the captain seemed ready to return to his meeting.
“I’ve kept my battalion commanders waiting long enough. London, you will come with me.” He motioned to the Elite Guard, who pushed off the wall and moved toward the guardroom, for once obeying an order. Then Cannan turned to the Sergeant at Arms.
“Galen, repost your guards. And send one of your men to notify the Royal Physician that the Queen needs tending.”
Galen nodded, crossing to the front doors and stepping outside while Cannan addressed his son one last time.
“Steldor, you need to talk with your wife.”
I studied my husband from across the entryway as the captain returned to his office, but he was looking away from me, infuriated, I suspected, with everyone and everything. Guilt nagged at me, though I would have thought seeing Steldor reprimanded would give me pleasure. London had impressed upon me how equally blameworthy I was, but the captain hadn’t taken my actions into account. She does not appreciate the risks posed by leaving the city, but you know better than to desert her. I did not believe myself to be as ill-informed as did Cannan, and knew full well that, though Steldor had been unreasonable in stranding me, he had expected me to walk back to the city. It had been my obstinacy that had led me to walk all the way to Koranis’s estate and practically into the enemy’s camp. Steldor was shouldering full responsibility for a dangerous situation that I had helped to create.
Galen reentered, followed by his Palace Guards, who took up their posts on either side of the large double doors. The sergeant then disappeared into the guardroom to send a man to rouse the doctor who attended the royal family.
I faced Steldor, hesitant to talk for fear of igniting his rage, all the while feeling the stares of the sentries upon my back. It seemed, however, that if I did not speak, no one would. I was scrambling to formulate the appropriate words when Galen rejoined us, looking ill at ease. He crossed the entryway, apparently to go home for the night.
“Wait,” Steldor bid him, interrupting his friend’s exit. “I’m going with you.”
Galen nodded and waited by the doors, although he glanced at me as if trying to determine whether he should offer some assistance. In the end, he did not, and the two friends departed, leaving me standing quite dismally alone under the curious eyes of the Palace Guards. Dragging the blanket London had given me, I hobbled up the Grand Staircase in as dignified a manner as I could manage, hoping the doctor would have something more effective than wine to treat my wounds.
CHAPTER 5
THE QUEEN
IT WAS MIDMORNING THE NEXT DAY BEFORE I forced myself out of bed. Sahdienne had prepared a bath, for I had been too exhausted in the aftermath of my misadventures to manage more than a quick wash. I stepped into the warm water, mind replaying all that had happened the previous day. My trials hardly seemed real anymore, but the soreness of my muscles and the tenderness of my feet were reminders that it had been no dream. I soaked in the water, relaxing, until my thoughts went to my morning and I began to fret about the engagements I had missed.
Sahdienne had gone to the bustling kitchens on the first floor, where food was always ready to meet the erratic schedules of the guards, to request that a meal be delivered to me in the tea room in an hour. When she returned, she helped me to dress and applied the salve the doctor had brought for my blistered skin, then enclosed my feet in soft slippers. As my stomach rumbled in an embarrassing fashion, she styled my hair into a single plait down my back. She scrutinized me one last time, then gave me a message.
“The Captain of the Guard stopped by earlier, Your Highness, before you were awake. He said not to disturb you, but to tell you when you rose that he’d cleared your schedule for the morning.”
“Thank you,” I said in amazement, wondering how it was that Cannan, one of the busiest men in the kingdom, especially now that we were at war, had the time to worry about modifying the Queen’s schedule. I was greatly touched that he had thought to do so and again pondered the contradiction he presented. The strong, intelligent and decisive military commander was respected by everyone and feared by most, yet he had several times shown himself to be more sensitive and caring than my own father or, for that matter, any of the other men in my life. It was strange now to think that I had once been afraid of him.
Ready for the day, I descended the spiral staircase to the first floor, then turned right down the corridor, too preoccupied to glance at the multicolored stone floor or the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. I entered the tea room and sat at the table nearest the bay window, letting the sunlight warm me through the glass. I did not have long to wait before a servant brought in a plate of food, the delicious aroma reawakening the gnawing in my stomach. My self-restraint greatly challenged, I forced myself to wait until she had departed before attacking the meat pie she had set in front of me. I had a few bites left when the door opened again, and I raised my head to see who was joining me. I stiffened at sight of my father and set down my tableware, feeling as though I had consumed the proverbial last meal of the condemned.
He stood to the right of the door, his hands behind his back, his eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. It felt as if a wintry wind had swept in behind him, and the sun that still shone on the back of my neck seemed to have lost its heat. I had forgotten my promise to see him this morning, which by itself would have cast me in disfavor, but that indiscretion became insignificant in light of my other misdeeds. I held no hope that he did not know what I had done the day before, for any display as public as the one in the entry hall last night would have set the palace gossips buzzing
“Alera,” my father said, his voice rich with displeasure, “you have shamed me greatly.”
I shifted, unable to meet his eyes. I could tell from his manner that had I been younger and unmarried, my offenses would have merited a whipping.
“I had intended to speak with you about your relationship with Koranis’s son, but now it appears there are additional egregious matters to address.”
He had started pacing across the front of the room, and the fingers of his left hand went automatically to the third finger of his right as if to twist the royal ring that had for years encircled it but that now belonged to Steldor.
“You promised me once that your affection for Narian was purely the fondness of a friend, but I see now that you lied to me. Your dishonesty has hurt me, Alera, and your childishness is hurting the kingdom. Steldor has every right to be furious with you, especially following yesterday’s frolics. I feared that as a queen you would distract your husband from his duties, and you have done so several times already. You have deceived and embarrassed him, and you have deceived and embarrassed me.”
His words stung, and I attempted an apology.
“I don’t know what to—”
“It would be considerate of you not to interrupt me,” he said sharply, turning toward me and holding up his hand. “I have no patience for excuses or fabrications.”
My mouth clamped shut, and indignation flared at the implication that I was being rude. I had not viewed myself as interrupting him when I’d spoken.
“I do not understand how this happened,” my father persisted, resuming his pacing and punctuating his words with his hands as he became more and more engrossed in his speech. “You were raised properly and purposefully, yet your behavior is no better than I would expect of a peasant. You were taught your place, yet you do not keep to it. You know the standards to which you must conform to be a fitting queen, but you refuse to adhere to them.” He pulled up short and gazed sternly at me. “I am appalled by your affair with the Cokyrian boy.”