Allegiance by Cayla Kluver
I put a finger to my lips, glancing toward the door, not wanting that piece of information to hit the palace gossip mill, and her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Alera, what can you be thinking? It’s his right, and it—it’s your obligation as a married woman!”
I stared at the rug, extraordinarily uncomfortable, knowing that no reason I could give would justify my refusal.
“And he hasn’t…he hasn’t forced you?”
“No,” I said, my voice trembling as she raised one of my greatest fears. My next words served more to convince myself than to explain his actions. “He loves me. He wants me to be willing, and…he has never raised a hand to me.”
“But he can’t just be…” My sister was having difficulty completing any sentence, and our flaming cheeks seemed to be heating up the room. “He can’t just…not ever! A man has…needs.” I knew from her expression that another shocking idea had come into her head. “What if there’s another woman?”
“Mira, hush!” I admonished, praying there were no inquisitive guards or servants in the hall outside. “There isn’t another woman, don’t be ridiculous! He wouldn’t…”
But my declaration was lost as the notion sank in. Would he?
I thought of the unusual hours Steldor kept. There was no denying the possibility; and the only way I could stop him was to let him bed me instead. So those were my choices: to continue to refuse him, sending him into the arms of a mistress and disgracing myself when the inevitable rumors began to circulate; or to let him bed me, to touch me and believe that he owned me, an idea I found so revolting it made me feel sick.
“Perhaps…perhaps I should go,” I mumbled, mortified by my own situation. We stood, and Miranna clasped my hand.
“Alera, I’ll always be here for you, whatever happens. You know that.” She hesitated, then finished, “But your life is with Steldor now, and that’s not going to change. I think he could be a good husband, but you…you have to let him.”
She blushed again, then led me to the door. Feeling drained, I stepped into the corridor to walk back to my quarters, aware that Miranna’s eyes were still upon me. I quickened my pace in a false show of composure, and only when I heard the click of the latch behind me did I succumb to the dreariness that made my heart and limbs heavy. I continued down the hallway, past the library, with my eyes downcast, not wanting to talk to anyone. So immersed was I in my misery that I recoiled at the sound of a male voice emanating from just a few paces in front of me.
“I know feet are fascinating, Alera, but it’s much more sensible to pay attention to where you’re going.”
Steldor stood outside the door to our quarters wearing a cocky and irritating grin, and for the thousandth time that day, I felt myself turning crimson. I stared at him, struggling for a witty rejoinder but unable to produce one.
“Did you want something, my lord?” I finally asked, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace.
“I simply wanted to see my beautiful wife,” he said, countenance still smug, although his eyes had softened and I suspected the compliment was sincere. “Your sister’s party is in three days, and I took the liberty of having a gown made for you for the occasion. You’ll wear it with your gold-and-pearl tiara, and your hair down, as you know I prefer it that way. The seamstress will bring it tonight for the final fitting. Obviously you need to be here.”
I gaped at him, stunned that he would have commissioned a gown for me without even consulting me. Had he considered that I might already have something in mind to wear? No. Had he sought my opinion on the appearance of the garment? No. I could feel my ire growing, but before I could reprove him, he brushed past me, continuing down the corridor without a hitch in his stride.
When the seamstress came to my bedroom that evening, the gown she carried with her was like none I’d ever before seen. I had always worn the finest fabrics and most stylish designs that money could provide, but never had I felt as rich and lovely as when I donned the garment for which my husband had made special arrangements.
I guessed from the way the woman nervously drummed the tips of her fingers together that Steldor had personally guided the gown’s creation, which meant that his taste was extraordinary. He would have specified the ivory silk of the skirt and bodice, the gold trim and the sleeves that were tight unto my elbows before draping like beautiful bells over my wrists. The fabric barely graced my shoulders, settling almost scandalously low across my bosom. But instead of being improper, it achieved a look that was daring and new, yet quite elegant. It was an ideal fit, gently skimming the curves of my body, then flaring out to sweep the floor. The only thing it lacked was a necklace. When I mentioned this to Sahdienne, she rushed into the parlor to retrieve a box that contained a distinctive gold chain that drew about the hollow of my throat, and from which short strings of pearls hung at intervals over my collarbone.
“His Highness left it for you, my lady,” Sahdienne explained, eyes shining with admiration for my spouse. I moved to sit at my dressing table so she could add the finishing touch, crowning me with my gold-and-pearl tiara.
“Your Majesty…” Sahdienne sighed, enchanted by my appearance. “I don’t believe I’ve seen a lovelier gown in all my life. The King is a remarkable man indeed.”
She began to fuss with the items on my dressing table, straightening what did not need to be straightened, flustered by her forward remark.
“That he is,” I concurred, with a note of bitterness I could not disguise.
I walked with the seamstress through the parlor, dismissing her with my genuine thanks and assurance that her work was exemplary, then marched back into my bedroom.
“I’m terribly sorry to have upset you, Your Highness,” Sahdienne said, obviously believing herself at fault for my crossness. “I was too familiar before.”
“Oh, hush, you’re not to blame for my bad humor. The King can take credit for that. Now help me out of this dress.”
Sahdienne obeyed, muttering additional apologies, then left me alone to examine the gorgeous gown that was laid out upon my bed. I would not wear it. I could not wear it. Suddenly remembering the necklace, I removed it none too gently from around my neck. Even I could not deny that these were magnificent gifts, but they came at a price. This was Steldor’s way of gaining dominion over me. If I consented to put on that gown to attend my sister’s birthday, he would expect something in return, believing he had won our odd little game. And I certainly could not permit that.
CHAPTER 6
BOYS AND MEN
ON THE NIGHT OF MIRANNA’S DINNER PARTY, I put on a white chemise with long, billowing sleeves underneath a sky-blue dress with a front-laced bodice. It was less formal than the gown Steldor had commissioned for me but attractive nonetheless. Most important, it was as far from ivory and gold as I could get, and so was bound to clash with Steldor’s attire, whatever it might be. I glanced slyly at my reflection in the mirror above my dressing table, delighted not only with my gown, but with my hair, artfully transformed into a bouquet of curls at the back of my head and crowned with a silver-and-diamond tiara.
Thoroughly satisfied, I left my bedroom and stepped into the parlor to find Steldor sitting on the sofa, his feet, in freshly shined black boots, crossed at the ankles and resting on the low sofa table. His eyebrows lifted at sight of me, but I met his gaze tenaciously, daring him to challenge my choices.
“Darling,” he said. “What have you been doing all this time if not getting ready for your sister’s dinner?”
“I am ready to meet our guests whenever you are,” I replied, tone cordial yet firm. I moved across the room to stand beside the door, and Steldor came to his feet, bemused.
“You’re not wearing that,” he informed me.
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’ll look ridiculous.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said, affronted.
“There’s nothing wrong with your dre
“And why not?”
“Your attire doesn’t complement mine at all.”
This was entirely accurate and pleased me greatly. He wore black pants and an ivory shirt under a fitted gold-and-emerald-green doublet, an ensemble that made him appear annoyingly godlike, but which was very near horrendous next to sky blue.
“Then our garb will complement our personalities,” I retorted.
He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Go change.”
“I will not.” My hands were on my hips, my jaw set.
“Think of it this way, Alera,” he began, and I could tell from the glint in his eyes that his next words would be manipulative. “Everyone will assume that you planned our clothing for the evening and that you intended for us to look well together. If we go as is, you will be held accountable for this atrocious misdemeanor against the laws of fashion. On the other hand, if you change into the gown that I provided, I will defer to you, and you will be admired for your magnificent taste. The choice is yours. Either way, I will be faultless. So ask yourself, would you rather take credit for an eyesore or for a work of art?”
His speech complete, he sank onto the sofa, stretching his arms out across its back, a grin spreading across his face. I had not thought this through, that much was evident, but now that I had commenced it, I would not give in to him.
“You could change. More easily than could I.”
“True,” he acknowledged with a chuckle. “But I look perfect.”
“Well, I’m sure you could look perfect in something else.”
“Oh, doubtless, but why duplicate what is perfect when one could improve what is not?”
I wanted to kill him. I wanted to close that infuriatingly divine mouth once and for all, and if ending his life were the way to do it, I was willing to take that step. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried again.
“If I change, my hair will be ruined.”
“You know, dear, something really should be done about your hair in any case. I told you to wear it down. And mind you switch tiaras.”
“We’re almost late as it is,” I blustered, trying to keep my tone civil, though inside I was burning. “You could change more quickly.”
“Not necessarily. You already know the gown into which you will change. I would have to search for something less elegant to match the dress you have on, but still formal enough for the occasion. And honestly, have you ever seen me in anything that might go with sky blue?”
I fell silent, for as much as I hated to admit it, he had a valid argument. He generally wore dark or rich colors, nothing similar to my gown. I despised myself for what I was about to do.
“I’ll wait,” Steldor said, accurately reading my expression.
I stormed back into my bedroom and donned the gold-and-ivory gown, which I was adamant I must detest despite its unparalleled beauty. I clasped the gold-and-pearl chain about my neck and almost brutally let my hair down, jamming the tiara of Steldor’s choice onto my head. Then I marched through the parlor and out the door without waiting for him.
I quickened my pace in the corridors, reaching the landing of the Grand Staircase well ahead of Steldor. Recognizing—though I was not on good terms with the knowledge—that the Queen could not waltz into a royal function without the King, I waited irascibly for him. He sauntered after me, pleased at having been the victor in our trivial argument. His attitude changed when he reached me, however, and he extended his arm with a winning smile, slipping on his characteristic charm like someone else would slip on a cloak.
Scowling in return, I tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow, permitting him to guide me down the stairs and to the first-floor dining room, where our guests had already gathered. Lanek awaited us and, at Steldor’s nod, stepped into the room to announce our arrival.
“All hail King Steldor and his Queen, the Lady Alera.”
I surveyed the small group of guests who bowed or curtsied before us. While I was accustomed to this show of respect, it felt strange for my parents and my sister to be among the crowd. Steldor did not seem to share my discomfort.
Lanek excused himself, and my husband and I moved into the room. Tadark, who had been standing with London next to the doors through which we had just entered, hopped after Steldor, while London stayed in place, arms crossed over his chest, back against the wall. It was customary at these kinds of engagements to devote one Elite Guard to each member of the royal family, even though the possibility of danger was nigh on nonexistent. London was, of course, assigned to me, and I could only assume that Cannan had been feeling vindictive when he’d attached Tadark to Steldor. The baby-faced guard tended to be clingy, overtalkative and rather excitable, despite his self-proclaimed dedication to duty. In short, if trouble brewed, it was far more likely Steldor would end up protecting Tadark than the other way around; if all remained tranquil, the annoying guard was likely to drive Steldor mad. Elite Guards had also been assigned to the rest of my family, with Destari and Orsiett, who had at one time been Miranna’s secondary bodyguard, serving my father and mother, and Halias, as always, shadowing my sister.
The lords stood next to the farthest of the double marble fireplaces that served the room, while their wives chatted a few feet from them. My sister and the younger guests were huddled in front of the large bay window that granted a view of the West Courtyard.
My parents were the first to approach to greet us, my father warmly addressing Steldor but offering only a nod to me, my mother dividing her attention between us. Steldor cast me a quizzical glance as the former King stepped away, but I ignored it, concentrating on my mother’s lilting voice instead.
“I’m very proud of the way you have adjusted to your new role, darling,” she said, apparently oblivious to my recent eyebrow-raising activities. She reached out to stroke my hair, although I suspected her gesture of affection was a way to tame an independent lock without embarrassing me, for I had not glanced in the mirror after adjusting my hairstyle.
“And I commend you on your choice of clothing. You have not always had patience for fashion, but you and Steldor look splendid tonight, and your gown is simply exquisite. You make a stunning couple.”
My mother had made the assumption Steldor had known she would, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge the compliment. She looked at me, slightly baffled, and Steldor spoke up in my place.
“Alera really does have impeccable taste,” he agreed with a slight smirk meant just for me.
My mother moved on, and we continued to offer a few words to our other guests in turn. The men would talk with Steldor, and the women would pay me generous compliments. Although I would not admit it, Steldor had been right to insist on a change in my clothing and was being rather gentlemanly by allowing me to accept the praise.
When the area around us began to clear, Baroness Faramay rushed to her son, leaving Cannan to follow at a normal pace.
“Oh, Steldor, my angel, just look at you,” she exclaimed, reaching to unnecessarily straighten the collar of his shirt. Her chocolate-brown curls fell across her shoulders, accenting the arrestingly beautiful features and radiant smile that she had in common with her son.
“Hello, Mother,” Steldor replied, a drawl of resignation in his voice. He crossed his arms, his fingers gripping his biceps.
“I haven’t seen you since the coronation,” Faramay continued, adoration for her only child shining in her blue eyes. “And I do miss you so. I wish you would find time to visit. Surely your wife doesn’t deserve all of your attention.”
She threw a petulant glance in my direction, and I wasn’t certain if I should be offended or amused. Was she jealous of me? The very idea was absurd.
“Actually, Mother, running the kingdom has been deserving of my attention,” Steldor said, and this time the bite in his tone was palpable.
Faram
“Don’t,” he snapped.
Cannan came to his wife’s side at that moment, acknowledging me with a brief inclination of his head before placing an arm around her waist.
“Faramay, I think you’ve talked with the boy long enough,” he said, attempting to escort her elsewhere, but she ignored him and turned once more to Steldor.
“Come now, love, don’t be cross,” she implored, laying a delicate hand upon his chest. “You know I don’t have a head for politics.”
“Yes, of course. I forgive you. Just go.”
“But kitten…”
“Mother, everything’s fine, but Alera and I have more guests to greet. Perhaps I’ll have a chance to speak with you later.”
Faramay acquiesced with a sigh and placed her arm around Cannan’s. Before they walked away, Steldor shot his father a disgruntled look, as though the captain had broken some agreement by allowing her to come near. Cannan responded with an almost imperceptible shrug, and I pondered what could cause Faramay to behave so obsessively toward Steldor. With a wave of empathy, I recalled that Steldor’s younger brother had been snatched from his crib and murdered by the Cokyrians, enough to make any mother overprotective. Still, her pandering seemed excessive, for her remaining son was no longer a little boy in need of her care.
Steldor’s charismatic attitude returned as Galen guided his companion, Lady Tiersia, to us. Steldor’s cousins, Lady Dahnath and Lady Shaselle, daughters of Cannan’s brother, Lord Baelic, and his wife, Lady Lania, trailed closely behind.
Galen greeted me with a kiss on the hand, then he and Steldor fell into good-natured bickering, while the young women gossiped about recent happenings in the kingdom. Shaselle, bearing a close resemblance to her mother with hazel eyes and thick, straight brown hair, kept inching closer to the young men, apparently finding her cousin and his best friend more interesting than the rest of us. Tiersia’s soft green eyes also flicked with frequency in the same direction, although for quite a different reason—Galen looked quite handsome in an amber-colored doublet. I was thankful to find that Dahnath, Shaselle’s studious, auburn-haired older sister, had no more interest in the men than did I, and we conversed enjoyably for several minutes.