Unrequited

She hated me.

It tore me apart, every hour I wasn't with her, every day her gaze never met mine, every time her path never wandered around to me. Because she hated me. She couldn't stand to be me near me.

And I hated it.

It was redundant, everything I was saying and thinking lately. Usually I was articulate…but not around her. Countess Meliara Astiar of Tlanth would never love me, Vidanric Renselaeus, the Marquis of Shevraeth and possibly the next king.

I laughed at myself, in the small archive that was adjacent to the grand library. That would be just like Mel…to not care about my rank, about anyone's rank. I had known that as long as…as long as I loved her.

I remembered when, after she had argued with me at Bran's-or maybe it was her own-table…it didn't change anything. She didn't find me more honest, or more approachable, although to be sure I felt more elated than I ever had in my life. I remember me asking her why…why she still hated me. And her answer was a simple, cutting, "I don't know."

Oh yeah…she just couldn't keep her eyes off me.

She had no court mask, no silliness. She was…her. And that was more than this universe was composed of. She had stared at Galdran as if he were an insect under her foot, even though her life was threatened. She talked to me as if I was her neighbor, not the future king, although those talks were rare…just as well, for every time she spoke I wanted to catch her lips with mine.

So why hadn't I? That bet I made was because I knew I had a chance…the stake was out of foolishness. A kiss? It was stupid of me. And…when it had come time to collect, I wavered. She really did hate me, with all her heart, our arguments were proof of that. If I had kissed her then, what good would it do? I made off as if she was too wet for me to kiss…but I would have gladly done it if she smelled like a cur. The problem was, she wouldn't.

I sighed and ran a hand through my loose fair hair, my silvery eyes glancing at the door, hoping she would walk in like she had done once before, occasionally thinking back to the time I dance with her. When the dreams faded out of my mind, I pulled the ring out of my pocket, fingering it with my hands. If I sent it to her, what would she think? That Russav had sent it? Probably.

I grimaced.

I knew that I was the one who requested Russav to flirt a bit with her…at least it would keep the other ladies from slaying her. But what if she fell for him? The Duke of Savona had always been better at it than I…it was enough that I couldn't have her…but for my friend to have her in my place? I had to do something.

Nodding to myself, I ran as quickly as I could-not bothering to get my manservant-down to get someone to deliver the ring to her. I didn't really want to think about what would happen after she received it. Russav might have said that my cause wasn't hopeless…but that didn't mean I believed him.

She doesn't even call me by my true name, I thought bitterly.

________

The next day I felt like I was floating on air-though I'm sure my demeanor wouldn't suggest so, for my training in court had left me with an indecipherable (at best) expression. I'd only just begun to hate it and my court drawl though, ever since Her. I knew she hated it, along with everything else about me.

Not that that mattered. She had worn the ring.

But I thought acidly, she thinks it's from Russav. I had seen the way she looked at him, and my heart hoped it wasn't with love, but it was most certainly with interest…expectancy. There was one hope: Meliara was temperamental, rash, quick-witted and fire-tongued…but she was no fool. If there was ever any indication that Russav wasn't serious, she would pick up on it.

Well, that was what I told myself.

I unlocked the door to my chambers, and with a suddenly heavy heart, sat down on the bed, wondering when everything would stop. Yes, I admit I had quite the taste for the melodramatic, but I just wished she would look me in the eye once in a while.

Standing up to look outside my window that overlooked the courtyard, I glimpsed Lady Tamara walking across the gardens, then cringed and swiftly retreated by the chance she might see me and think I was gazing down at her. There was nothing wrong with Tamara, but I still got a chilling sense of deception beneath her beauty.

And why shouldn't I? I thought. It wasn't like I hadn't seen my share of power-hungry girls trying to court me, and that tally was most certainly doubled as my chance of becoming king increased. I had gotten used to it, immune to their charms. The problem really was that half the court expected me to marry her. As if it was her right and my privilege. I hope I had the courage to abandon grace and step on her pretty little foot the next time she danced with me.

A firm sense of distaste in my mouth, I went to my bureau and started toying with the white roses on it, doing my best to avoid the thorns. It was a game I used to play with Russav, to see who was quicker with their fingers, and therefore, their sword. With a sharp pain, a thorn pricked my right middle finger, and a single dollop of blood swelled and dropped onto the bureau.

Well, I never was good at that game.

Smirking even while cursing, I wondered what my manservant would think of blood on wood. That's when I realized it wasn't wood that it had dropped on. It was a letter. I picked it up carefully, my eyes narrowing…if anyone wanted to reach me, they could just…

That's when my heart stopped.

Guess whom it was from.

Oh, come on, everyone knows it was from Meliara. I ripped it open; trying to calm myself…I hadn't acted this unconstrained since I was two. It was almost embarrassing.

But then I thought, to hell with constraints.

The gifts are beautiful, and I thank you, but what do they mean? The letter read.

Mel, you dolt, I thought, they mean I love you.

Well, I couldn't very well say that. She didn't even know the ring was from me, and if she did I'd wager she would run. And believe me, I rarely lost wagers. So instead I took a single white rose from the vase at my bureau, clipped the thorns off, and called my manservant.

My intentions were pure…purer than they had ever been.

_______

The next time I saw or heard of Mel was at the Marquise of Merindars' gathering. I hadn't exactly expected to see her there, but once she was, I knew I should of. The Marquise was still playing her game, and I hoped-for personal and political reasons-that Mel wasn't caught in her trap.

Turning my ears from the conversation of horses between Renna, Bran and Deric, I looked around the room, careful not to stare too long at Meliara. My pupils contracted and my eyes narrowed when they fell upon Lord Flauvic, the Marquises son. He was-and I can admit this freely-a handsome man. But more deadly than poison. There was no wonder in court why they called him 'the flower' in a tone that suggested dishonesty. But I saw more than that…Flauvic was more than he said, but not even I had the political grace, diplomacy or patience to find him out…and even then, I doubted he would be swayed.

I also saw the way he looked at my Meliara. Like a hungry wolf, he glimpsed her through lowered lashes, and I was immediately put on guard.

Suddenly Lady Tamara took Mel but the arm and led her to the fireplace. I caught little snippets of conversation, "…show us the way at the races as well?" Lady Tamara was concealing irony behind her compliments, although it was plain to see. I saw Mel blush, and saw Deric support Tamara's cause unwittingly. Without warning my thoughts dove deep and I was consumed by the fact that Deric was courting Mel. Well…sort of.

I shook my head vigorously and scolded myself for acting like a jealous fool. Had years of court training for deceptiveness, placidness and an indifferent air eroded with one thought of one simple girl? I had catered to what the court asked of its people: fashion and flair…not that I had really wanted it. I had done it to be ordinary to the king I was trying to dethrone. If he actually found I was more than I seemed, I would become a threat, and it didn't matter if the rest of the court thought I was a fop.

Until you-know-who stumbled into a trap set for me and sent my whole world spinning.

Suddenly I found all the training I'd worked so hard on to mask any colorfulness or emotion drip away whenever my thoughts wandered. It had become a fight to stay with that same airy demeanor…it wasn't as if I liked my image in court when Galdran ruled, but now that I knew She hated it-and it, on the whole, was what caused Her mistrust in me-I really, truly loathed it.

I think I probably would have growled right then and there, if that same court training hadn't saved me (at least it was good for something). I just all of a sudden realized that I was actually in the Marquises house, and yet I was thinking like I was in my riding leathers with my hair down on a sunny day. It was crucial I stay diplomatic, and not detest the very skills that gave me that diplomacy. 

So to amuse myself I eavesdropped yet again on the conversation that was being had by Lady Tamara and Mel. "It transpires" Tamara was saying, "that our sharpest wits are also experts at the duel. Almost am I willing to rise at dawn, just to observe you at the cut and thrust."

Oh life I thought, What the hell is she trying to do?

. Was she talking about me? No…I didn't think so. But I could tell there was something. The way Mel was looking at her also suggested her awareness and unwillingness to dance lightly with Tamara. The way Mel just smiled and sipped her tea confirmed it. I could have run up and kissed her then. She wasn't going to play any games-or more appropriately; traps-that Lady Tamara had set up. I resisted the urge to grin out right and settled for a small smirk and the uncontrollable glint in my eyes.

Fialmas' thin, wheezy voice drew me back, "Tamara, my love, that is not dueling, but mere swordplay."

Tamara put on a mock display of surprise. "True, true I had forgotten…an academic question: Is it a real duel when one is favored by the opponent?"

"Is it a real contest, say in a race when the better rider does not ride?" Fialmas' faint voice grated my ears, and I realized she was talking to me. Replaying her words in my head, I understood she was undermining Mel's natural talent for the sake of upgrading my cultivated one. Or she was just doing it to undermine anyone, which would be classic Fialma.

"If a stake is won, it is a race. If the point draws blood, it is a duel," I tried to say it as indirectly as I could.

Fialma said something about honor and liberality that was probably another comment meant to undermine (big surprise), waved her fan for Intimate Confidence, and then sat down and shut up, like I wanted her to.

I almost raised an eyebrow at my own aggressive thoughts, and bit my inner cheek. I guess just wished all these games and implied comments would end. Maybe if I were king, I would try that. I almost smiled slightly as I realized that would be more to Mels' tune than anyone else's.

When I came out of my thoughts (which today came on strongly and immersed me in them more completely than any other day) there was a joke that had been said-probably by Bran, who missed any insult or compliment unless it was brought to him face value, bless his soul-and everyone was laughing. Then the Marquise came and offered food.

I stood up and followed the others, but I couldn't help noticing the Marquise take Mel aside and lead her to a handsomely carved door. Meliara glanced at several people-including me, I thought with a rush as I tried to arrange my face in an unreadable way-before she disappeared behind the Marquise.

Now I had something to worry about. If the Marquise wasn't a slimy, conniving courtier, then I would also believe that Flauvic was as harmless as he looked. I glanced to the door, and wondered-not for the first time-what all the courtiers were saying to Mel, and if she believed any of it.

 Because if she did, it probably meant I really did have my deepest love for an enemy.

.