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I watched him from the knees down as he paced the tower. Even his ankles seemed angry.
“Shall we go down to the gardens?” My mother’s voice was soothing and low, like a warm summer breeze. Hearing it made me feel as if nothing bad could ever happen.
My father’s legs paused. I held my breath, hoping he would agree, and leave.
The scent of the mead was pungent. It overwhelmed my senses, blotting out the smells of the fresh herbs–lavender, rosemary, and twigs of rowan–that my mother had strewn about the floor of the room.
“It is a lovely day,” she murmured. I watched as she crossed over to the window, drawing back a damask curtain.
From this distance, I could see her in full. She was tall and regal, her long yellow hair cascading down her back in shimmering waves that gleamed like spun gold. She wore a magnificent gown of deep crimson, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that sparkled and glinted with every movement. The gown flowed around her like a river of fire, sweeping the ground behind her in a sea of soft, scarlet fabric. Her skin was as fair as the moon and her eyes shone with wisdom and secrets.
How could my father be anything but enchanted?
“Close that, woman. The light is too bright for my tastes.” My father’s voice was harsh, his words slurred. He was deep in his cups.
I slid a little further back under the bed, though I knew he would not see me. Not once had he spotted me there. For better or for worse, he had eyes only for her.
“Can a man not come to his wife’s bedchamber and be greeted with something other than disdain and a request to leave?” His feet moved towards where my mother stood near the arched window.
“Of course.” Her voice was light and breathless. I could tell she was struggling to know what to say, how to put him at ease. With a child’s passion, I hated him for not appreciating what she was trying to do. “I thought you would enjoy a walk in the gardens. Ordinarily you like to...”
“I did not come here for my own enjoyment, but to remind you of your place in my court.”
The tower was quiet for a moment.
“What place might that be, my lord?”
I heard my father make a sound like a growl, full of bitterness and anger. “Do not challenge me.”
“I would never do that, as well you know.” My mother’s voice was gentle, but tinged with sadness.
I felt angry for her. Why should she be so sad? Why should he be so angry? Did he not love her?
I thought back and recalled that he had not visited her room in many months. What for me was a boon, was perhaps something else for her.
“I have missed you,” she said. “You have not visited me in some time.”
A pause hung in the air.
“I know you have been spending a great deal of time with Lord Beswick’s daughter,” she continued. I saw a flush bloom on her cheeks. “Ettarde is a charming girl, is she not?”
Another pause.
“I understand, you know.” My mother’s voice was hurried. “Of course, you need a change of company. But I am glad you have returned to me.” The sadness in my mother’s voice was palpable to me. I longed to reach an arm out and grasp her hand, to wrap my arms around her and comfort her, to reassure her of my love–as my father was not even attempting to do.
Still, he did not answer.
Then I understood, the pause was guilty. He was guilty. Even as a child, I guessed what would come next and cringed.
“She is a beautiful woman. She is everything you are not,” I heard him spit. “I was a fool to have wed you, Ygraine. The Three know how I have rued the day.”
I could almost feel the wave of hate as it hit my mother–and then the ripples of pain as the words penetrated deep into her heart.
“I had to get out. You were the way. You will always have my gratitude for that,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But you made vows to me as well. Vows of eternal love. Have you forgotten...”
“Gratitude, aye. That is all I expect from you. So why do you look at me with reproach on your face?” my father snarled.
The sound of his hand hitting my mother’s face was so sudden I nearly cried out.
