Kings of Deceit - R

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

"Looking for someone?"

Anja appeared from thin air, her breath warm on the back of Rhys's neck.

"Ugh, not you," Rhys grimaced. He pushed her face away from his, though perhaps a little too rough to be considered harmless. Anja did not mind, of course. She pouted, feeling her face in mock shock, but quickly her expression morphed into a wicked grin and she laughed under her breath.

"Oh no, I've been insulted by mean old Rhys," she mocked, trailing behind Rhys as he wandered through the market. Ovis was designed in a circular pattern with the castle at the middle and housing along the outskirts. The largest market stood to the north, and in the early afternoon it was filled with vendors and shoppers, so packed with bodies it was difficult to find clear paths on which to move. Anja seemed to have no trouble navigating the narrow pathways. She moved like a snake, weaving her way around shoppers so as to always stay uncomfortably close to Rhys's side, breathing down his neck.

"Do you mind?" Rhys hissed, turning on her. "Wait, of course you don't, because you're a selfish bitch who cares about no one but yourself."

Anja only shrugged, stepping closer to Rhys until they were nearly chest to chest. "Your bride is darling," she insisted, her eyes wide in what Rhys knew to be false sincerity. "Truly, a beauty. My only question is how long she'll last. A week, a month? She's weak, Rhys, and I don't just mean that I could snap her neck without trouble. She won't be able to handle the truth of our lives. She'll be so aghast with what she has married into that she'll simply... crack." With her words Anja drew her finger across her neck, miming a throat being slit. "The poor darling will simply not be able to find the will to live with her depression. At least... that makes a very convincing story, does it not?"

They had come to a turn at the edge of the market, and as they took the corner Rhys grabbed Anja by her neck and slammed her against a stone wall. She gasped but did not struggle, her eyes alight with fury.

"You will not touch her, you will not threaten her, and most of all you will not threaten me, understood? We may be family but I'd be far more inclined to slit your throat than hers."

Anja did not respond, she only lashed out with her foot, hooking Rhys behind the knee and forcing him to the ground. He hit the cobblestone hard, his knees banging against the cold surface. Anja did not fight him more but stood very still, her eyes narrowed and staring off towards the throng of people going about their business on the adjacent street.

"Christophe!" She called suddenly. A man from the throng's head shot up, and he turned towards Anja. There was no recognition on his face, and Rhys was fairly certain that he was not aquainted with Anja, but he came at his call anyhow, looking entranced by the thought of a beautiful young woman seeking him out.

"My Lady," he said, bowing before Anja. "I don't believe I know you, though you seem to be acquainted with me."

Anja smiled brilliantly and fluttered her eyelashes, a move that made Rhys want to gag. He watched from the sidelines, confused as to what was occurring. Anja was hardly the type to flirt with strangers on the street, and this exchange made Rhys extremely wary.

"I'm afraid you do not, Sir, but I'm sure we'll be much better acquainted very soon. I have a message to relay to you for your father. You see, my father does some business transactions with your father and sent me out to seek you."

Though perhaps the man should have been cautious at this point he merely smiled and nodded, too consumed with Anja to think logically. "Of course, My Lady." He offered his arm and Anja took it, leading him down the path. Rhys followed quietly behind, and the man did not seem to notice his presence. Anja at first chatted idly with the man, but after they'd taken several twists and turns they came upon an empty alleyway, and Anja dropped the man's arm.

"Where are we?" He asked, seeming to come to his senses. His hand inched towards the sword at his hip, but Anja was much too quick.

She moved almost too quickly for Rhys to comprehend. A dagger appeared in her hand and she advanced on the man, knocking him to the ground and pinning him with her knee. She slashed the man's throat in one quick movement, careful to avoid the gush of blood that began to spew from the wound. His eyes rolled and he began to choke on the blood as it seeped from his lips. It had been a deep cut and he died quickly, but still the sudden violence had been enough to shock even Rhys.

"That's the message," Anja stated, her voice even and calm. She turned to Rhys. "His father turned on our father - I was instructed to send the family a message. I think this will suffice."

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

It seemed that no matter how fiercely she pressed her pen to the parchment, her brain could not stop thinking about the ceremony. The growing pile of ruined pens beside her attested to that. She fell back against her chair and sighed. Shifting, she wished she had decided, all those years ago, that a plush armchair would be the best seat to work instead of the horrible wooden thing she had chosen. Usually, it made her more productive, but today it was just worsening her mood.

She stood and went to the window. The room overlooked the castle, which was certainly not the most inspiring view. Still, it was situated in the quiet part of the university, away from the general bustle of the city behind the inner walls. And considering Jessa’s research subject – the royal family and their history – the castle was a fitting sight. Today, she could see carriages arriving, bringing guests she had never met and gifts she would either not care for or would have taken from her. She sighed at the opulence of it all. It was an arranged marriage between two families who hated each other – why did it need such pomp?

Jessa knew the reason, of course. They had to pretend the marriage was for good political purposes. Of course, Jessa had not actually been told that there was any ulterior motive, but she was clever enough to know the King was planning something. She wondered when she would be clued in, considering she must be playing an integral part.

“Still here?”

“Yes, Alistair,” she said tiredly. Her friend had checked up on her every half an hour, hoping she would have left. Jessa could not bear the thought of going near the castle while it was getting ready, though, so she was hiding out. It was undignified, yes, and she had intended to leave an hour before. Yet, she could not.

“You are getting married in less than four hours. Shouldn’t you be thinking about going?” he wheedled. Jessa looked at him oddly. He had never begged her to leave before, preferring her company to being alone.

“Yes, Alistair,” she repeated. At her pointed look, he nodded and shut the door behind him.

She turned her back on the scene outside the window and tried to make her mind go blank. She would end this day productively. Focused, she returned to her chair and resumed scanning the pages in front of her. She was reaching the beginning of the Barichean Wars now, a bloody civil war which ended up dragging other countries into the mess. The King of Barichea had been a strange, secretive ruler. None of the journals or records she had read so far had many details about him other than that everyone seemed to adore him. So why the war? It did not make sense. The tale everyone she asked spun her about the people revolting amongst themselves because of food shortages and beliefs that friends had become traitors was thin, at best. The King had been far too involved, especially if the royals of other countries had taken an interest. No, it was far too peculiar to go unstudied.

“Jessa!” Harris burst in, much as he had done before. “Father is going to kill you!”

Jessa raised her eyebrows. “I hardly think so. Who else would he marry to Rhys Marinon?”

Harris pouted, reminding her of his age. She often forgot he was only fourteen when he took more genuine, scholarly interest in her studies than people three times his age. Of course, today was not one of those times. Prince Harris enjoyed pomp and ceremony as much as any of his family, which overshadowed his love of knowledge. Jessa could not even begin to understand.

With a heaving sigh, for she had just managed to concentrate on her work, she stood. “Well, fine. Take me to sign my own death warrant.”

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

The real tragedy of the murder was not that a life had been taken or that Anja had acted so cruelly, but rather that Rhys neither reacted nor was surprised. It was moments like this that Rhys checked his own morality, wondering how he'd ever become so hardened towards life.

"Was this really necessary?" He sighed, crouching down to examine the body. The man was dead without question: his eyes were vacant and slack and the pool of blood that was beginning to run through the crevices in the cobblestones was substancial enough to ensure no chance of survival.

"I'm just doing my duty, Rhys. I do what you can't, isn't that right?" They exchanged a brief look of mutual disgust, Rhys at Anja's dig and Anja at Rhys's disposition.

"Well, dispose the body, I suppose," Rhys said, resigned. He began to try and lift the corpse by the feet but Anja grabbed his arm before he could move the man an inch.

"No, no," Anja shook her head, a glint in her eye, "I said I was sending a message."

Just as Rhys was beginning to comprehend Anja's meaning a voice sounded from the distance, calling out the dead man's name. "Right on time." Anja moved to the end of the alley, waiting in the shadows. As he rounded the corner a look of horror flashed across his face and he began to run towards his fallen friend. Anja's foot slipped out in front of the man and he came crashing down to the hard ground, his hands only jutting out just in time to break his fall. Anja was there atop of him, the same dagger pressed against his throat that was used to kill his friend, the blood still wet on the blade.

"I have a job for you," she hissed. The man cowered on the ground, defenseless and horrified. His eyes darted back and forth between the bloody corpse not 20 feet away and Anja's blade that held him to the ground. Sobs welled up in the man's throat and he began to moan and gasp. Rhys almost felt pity for the man, but this was not the first time he had seen such displays of emotion and time had somewhat diminished his ability to sympathize.

"You will take this body back to its home. You will present the Lord with his son and you will tell him that this is his payment for his misdeeds. He'll understand the rest."

The man continued to sob in ripping, horrible sounds, and Anja drew the blade closer, drawing a hint of blood. "Do you understand?"

A wimper escaped his lips and the man nodded feverishly. Anja released him from her hold and the man instantly got to his feet, rushing to his friend's side.

"Come on," Anja motioned to Rhys, "we're done here. You have a wedding to prepare for."

***

Inside the castle walls Rhys slumped in his chair, unable to rid his mind of the image he had witnessed earlier. Such things rarely shook him, but this had been a special occasion.

"Why didn't you tell me what she was planning?" Rhys demanded, watching his father pace aimlessly around the sitting room.

"I didn't know she was going to take you along," said Lord Erik. "Besides, this doesn't concern you. We've relegated these duties to Anja for a reason, Rhys." The distain in his voice at the mention Rhys's name was clear, but Rhys's hardened expression showed no insult. "You know your sister's ways; I assume she wanted to shock you somehow. It's so very like her to be melodramatic." Lord Erik sighed, waving his hand in the air as if to brush off Anja's borderline psychotic tendencies.

A question Rhys had only begun to think of recently had been brewing for a few days in the back of his mind, and it came to the surface suddenly, demanding to be answered.

"What are we going to do about Jessa. How will we...," Rhys trailed off, unable to think of the proper word, "introduce her to our... business."

Lord Erik rarely showed compassion, and this did not seem to be an exception to the rule. He shrugged, pouring himself a glass of wine as he contemplated the issue. "We do nothing. She will learn in time; nothing we tell her, no lies we present will do anything to change her reactions or her heart. Only time will afford her any change. You'd be best to learn that soon."

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

Jessa felt uncomfortable. Not only had she been forced to wear a corset, which was cutting off her air supply, beneath her dress but her death was being witnessed by the Queen. The woman eyed her critically but said nothing. Clearly she did not approve. Not because the dress did not meet her expectations of what Jessa should wear but because she did not like how Jessa wore it.

Frankly, Jessa did not care. If she wanted to slouch and fidget because it felt wrong, then she would. If she wanted to cross her arms around her breasts to hide how low the neckline plummeted, she would. If she tripped because there were too many skirts and layers, then so be it. Her chastity ring, which had been her mother’s and never made into a marriage band, hung from a chain around her neck. She touched it gently, watching it shine in the light, and mourned another loss of her mother’s memory.

“You’ll… do,” Catrice said insincerely. It was clear she wanted to be anywhere but here, part of the wedding of the girl she hated most in the world. The feeling was mutual. Jessa would switch places with one of the Queen’s daughters in a heartbeat. However, it was unlikely the Queen would have consented to wasting her daughters on the Marinon spawn, risking their lives in the process. Catrice could be happy about that, at least, even if Jessa was marrying before the princesses.

A maid barged into the room and manhandled Jessa into a chair. The girl pondered her for a moment and sighed heavily. “So much to do and so, so little time.”

Catrice hid a snort, which Jessa graciously ignored. “Simple is fine,” she told the maid, who proceeded to ignore her. The maid lifted up locks of her hair in disgust, then picked up a brush and began tearing it through her hair. Jessa hissed in pain as it caught on a particularly stubborn knot.

“I can do it myself,” she suggested, to no avail. The woman continued, yanking and pulling, until Jessa’s ginger hair lay smoother and softer than it ever had before. The maid puffed her chest out importantly and glanced at the Queen for approval. Peering into the mirror, Jessa was shocked…was that approval on Catrice’s face? A moment later, the expression was replaced by bland distaste, almost quickly enough that Jessa could convince herself she had imagined it. But no; the Queen envied beauty as much as her younger daughter. Even if she hated the person, she could admit when a person made the best of themselves; often that increased her hatred. Luckily for her, Jessa did not care enough to make an effort.

Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun except for one section, which sprung loose from the bun and trailed down her neck. It ticked; Jessa shook her head until the maid firmly grasped her and glared. She clipped beads, which looked like red and white berries, into her hair.

Then, the maid produced a leaf and berry tiara from a glass box. It was beautiful. The red berries, which perfectly matched the colour of her dress, dotted tiny brown twigs woven into the frame and sprawling from it. They contrasted perfectly with the forest green leaves, tipped with white to look like frost. Jessa had never seen such a tiara anywhere near her. She shook her head. “I can’t wear that.”

“You will,” Catrice ordered, and though it clearly pained her to say it, she added, “Every princess of the du Rene legacy, and every women married into it, has worn this tiara on her wedding day.”

“I am no princess.”

“I agree. But you are still your father’s daughter, however much we dislike it.”

With a sigh, Jessa let the maid place it carefully atop her head. It was slightly too big, so it slipped a little way down her forehead. The maid said it looked pretty that way; Catrice sniffed. After a few moments, Jessa’s head began to itch, unused to tiaras and leaves digging into her skin.

Her hair tight and uncomfortable, the tiara haphazardly placed and painful, the dress revealing and her skirts too full, Jessa was ready. She glanced down at herself in the mirror, saw her miserable face, and knew she did not look anything like a girl about to be married. From the stories her mother had read to her before bed, Jessa had thought weddings were meant to be happy occasions, full of love and family. As a child she had presumed her mother would be there, at least. But perhaps Jessa should be glad; at least Emara would not see her daughter’s unhappiness.

The head maid popped her head around the door. Her gaze rested briefly on Jessa, and she saw disbelief and admiration in her gaze. “They’re ready for you.”

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

Rhys knew his own preparation for the ceremony was much less tedious and exhaustive than what Jessa must be going through, but even Rhys felt somewhat pampered. His family had brought their personal servants with them to Ovis, and so Rhys was attended to by his valet, Avis, instead of some spare castle servant. It was not that the Marinons were particularly hard to please or very high maintenance but rather that servants were a precious commodity, people who lived in confidence with the family, and finding those with such loyalties were hard to come by.

Avis had combed out Rhys hair into shiny, loosely curled locks that hung much more nicely than his usual tousled mess. Rhys was dressed in his finest linen chemise and a fine deep blue brocade doublet, but this was where his admiration for his dress ended. Custom dictated that he wear hose instead of breeches, and the tight fabric not only left little to the imagination but felt more elaborate that was really necessary. His shoes were topped with silk, thought to be a show of wealth and class, but Rhys would have given anything to slip on his favorite worn leather boots. Least fortunate of all was the heavy, dark simar Rhys was forced to wear over it all, a robe with no really purpose but to be taken off and replaced with the royal robes during the ceremony.

"Why must I wear this hideous thing?" Rhys sighed, turning in front of the long mirror in his dressing room.

"It's not hideous," Avis chastised, batting Rhys's hands away from picking at the seams. "You look regal, truly. It's a good look for you."

"I look like a pompous ass," Rhys complained. Though he felt idiotic in his many formal layers, Avis certainly had a point - Rhys looked like royalty, like a true nobleman. He was no vain main, but even Rhys could appreciate when he looked well. With a resigned sigh Rhys dropped his hands to his waist. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Avis nodded quickly, hurrying from the room. He returned momentarily with Rhys's mother and father in tow, both dressed in similarly elaborate fashions.

"You look lovely, darling," his mother smiled, taking his hand in hers. Rhys kissed her head, trying to smile himself.

"Must I?" He asked solemnly, his voice low, speaking soft enough just for his mother's ears. She too turned solemn, locking eyes with her eldest son. She closed her eyes and nodded in silence, squeezing Rhys's hand more tightly.

"I'm sorry about Seline," she whispered. The words were quick and nearly silent, but Rhys did not miss them. His breath caught and his throat tightened at the mention of the name. It had been a forbidden subject in his house since the marriage had been arranged, and he had no expected it to be resurrected so close to the marriage. "I know you loved her," his mother continued, "but I also know you understand duty, and I thank you for this."

Rhys did not answer. It was not that he could not think of anything to say but rather that by answering he was afraid he might betray his emotions, and if ever there was a time to wipe his mind of all things sentimental it was now. He erased all thoughts of that name, focusing only on the task at hand.

"I'm ready," he stated, keeping his eyes forward and his expression neutral. For a moment his mother looked as though she wished to comfort him, to say something to ease the pain, but she seemed to decide against it, straightening her posture and turning towards the large double doors that led into the hall. She nodded to the porter as her husband came to her side, and with her instructions the doors were opened and the family was led into the hall.

It was a dark and cramped space, just a converging point before the entrance to the grand ceremony hall, but for all intents and purposes it was the beginning of the wedding. There at the other end of the room was Jessa, she too looking extrodinary in her scarlet dress and elaborate headdress placed upon her head. The King and Queen stepped forward first to greet Lord and Lady Marinon, and the four of them stood in two rows near the door, waiting for their que. Rhys stepped forward next, extending an arm towards Jessa which she took graciously.

"Are you ready?" He asked, staring at the large mahogany doors that were slowly creaking open.

"No."

"Good, neither am I."

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

The sheer number of people she could see through the gap in the doors was staggering. Jessa’s heart beat frantically in her chest. She couldn’t say unfelt vows in front of so many strangers. It was bad enough lecturing in the university, but at least she knew her students a little. This…she planted her feet as hard as she could for wearing heeled shoes. Jessa saw Rhys glance at her out of the corner of her eye, but she refused to look his way. Keeping her gaze locked on the back of Lord Marinon’s head, she waited for the ceremony to begin.

A short fanfare trumpeted in the silence and the guests, as one curious mass, turned their heads to the door. From the back of the ceremony hall, the orchestra began. The gentle melody of flutes and violins contrasted with the trumpets. It filled Jessa with dread. The King and Queen emerged from the entrance hall in time with the music, holding out and cupping their small red candles in their hands. Jessa hoped one of them would lose their grip. She wanted to see the room burn and the idea of marriage with it.

When the royals were halfway down, Rhys’s parents lit their candles, the colour of blueberries, and followed. The music swelled as their entered and then resumed its slow song. Jessa fidgeted, until Rhys squeezed her arm and whispered, “Are you going to be okay?”

She paused, an affirmative on her lips. Instead, she shrugged. “I don’t know. But it needs to be done.”

Their respective family members had reached the large candle at the back of the room, standing on a tall, decorated dais. Vines had been wrapped around the white plinth, with strings of beaded blueberries and red berries woven into them. As one, the four family heads tipped their candles together, lighting the wick of the white, neutral one. The fire flared, the violins screeched loud and then the music stopped. The flames flickered and died down to a manageable blaze. Expectation hung in the air; the room felt muffled and strange. The family members bowed their heads, then the Queen turned to Lord Marinon as Lady Marinon turned to the King. The men offered their arms to the others’ wife, and led them to their seats.

Jessa pursed her lips. Their families were now joined; there was no going back.

After a long pause, the flutes cautiously begun the next melody, followed by oboes, cellos and then the violins. Jessa and Rhys looked at each other and nodded. Together, they stepped out into the ceremony hall. Jessa’s shoes pinched her toes and made her feet blister and they started to walk slowly along the crimson carpet beneath the glow of candlelight. Her head spun. This was really happening. She glanced around, hoping Alistair had made it to the wedding – her sole guest. Her heart stopped pounding against her ribcage when she found him, at the back, pressed up against some unknown lady with a dangling feather hat. At least he was there.

The Court Orator had positioned himself before the flames, holding a book open between his hands. He waited while they finished their journey down the aisle. Jessa looked into his face when they stopped, but there was no kindness in his gaze. He did not care for Jessa, hated her because of what she represented. Clearly he did not want to marry her to Rhys, especially when neither of the true princesses had been brides, but at least Jessa would no longer be a du Rene.

For that, at least, Jessa was glad.

Having forgotten where she was, Jessa stumbled when Rhys turned her to face him. He seemed a little amused. Soon, he looked as nauseated, though he tried to hide it, as Jessa felt. Her stomach roiling, she fumbled to take Rhys’s hands correctly. It was difficult to remember how to do it with so many eyes watching them, and she wracked her brains in panic. They crossed their arms over each other, so left hand met left hand and right hand met right. Their palms – Jessa wished she had wiped them on her dress beforehand – touched stickily. Keeping her gaze down so she could concentrate, she hooked their thumbs together and curled her fingers around the back of his hand. She glanced up, a question in her gaze, and Rhys nodded slightly.

The Orator spoke for a short while, nonsense about the good of the occasion and how it would be greatly valued and advantageous for both families. Jessa, mostly, ignored him, her head too full of thoughts of what it would be like living in Jasrah. She wondered if there was a university nearby and if she would be able to work there. She wondered how the Marinons lived, and imagined it a cold, dark place she would hate for eternity. Her thoughts certainly did not help her mood. She was maudlin, deciding how many weeks she would last before the Marinons decided it was best she ‘went away’, when the Orator glared at her sharply. Jessa jumped and apologised meekly.

She repeated her vows: to honour the marriage, to remain faithful to her husband and both of their families, to ensure she would endeavour to make her husband happy as he would her, and to never betray him or cause the family ruin. There was no mention of love, of course, the barest hint of the need for children during the marriage, and her part was over. It was nothing like the vows her mother had read to her, though Jessa had been disillusioned of those marriages long ago.

Rhys repeated the vows, looking into her eyes as tradition dictated, then he was done too. They both released their hands, and Jessa let hers drop to her sides. Her gaze landed on the chastity ring about his neck and she breathed deeply to calm herself. It did not work. Now was the real point of no return.

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

Chastity rings - what a joke. Rhys had hardly worn his in years, nor had he ever been prompted to do so. It was a token left on his bedside, allowed to gather dust and tarnish on the thin chain. It was custom to display the ring on a chain around the neck until the wedding day, in which a person would wear it on their finger. Some people wore their's as a sign of availability, to announce their wish to marry. Others wore their's out of pride of "virtue," though those people were few and far between. Rhys had never seen the point of the decrepit old tradition. He was certainly not chaste nor had he been for a long time, so why lie about it? Rhys was glad to let the retched thing go when the time came.

The orator ushered forth a tall, lanky man dressed in long white robes. He stuck out his arms and turned his hands over, opening them to reveal two simple silver rings, one in each hand. Rhys took his que: he took Jessa's hand and slipped her chastity ring off her ring finger and placed it in the man's outstretched palm, Jessa following the motion en suite. When the rings had been placed with their respective wedding bands the man closed his hands, making fists. His eyes fluttered shut, and Rhys watched with awe as a faint glow was cast from within the man's palms, shining through the cracks between his fingers. When the man opened his hands once more the sets of rings had been melded into one, resulting in two brilliant silver bands.

"With these rings you are bound to one another and pledge your loyalty, devotion, and life." Rhys and Jessa each took one ring and placed it on the other's finger, this time joining just the hands with the rings. "Two rings into one, two lives into one, unbreakable from now until death."

The lanky mage retreated into the background and the orator took presedence again, this time holding a long scarlet cloak. "Lord Rhys Marinon," he began, turning to Rhys, "do you herby revoke your title as a lord and accept the position granted to you in the house of the du Reine's, as your marriage grants you?"

"I do."

"Then with this cloak I bind you to the du Reine line," Jessa spoke from memory, her words obviously forced from repetition, thoughtless and emotionless. She stepped behind Rhys, removing his heavy simar. She took the cloak from the orator, placing it around Rhys's shoulders with delicacy then stepping to the front to fasten the chain. She kept her eyes down and held her lips in a taut, flat line. "I dub you with your new title, Prince Rhys du Reine Marinon."

Rhys reciprocated with the silly practiced words. "In turn I offter you my family name, Princess Jessa du Reine Marinon." Jessa's flinch and grimace at the name did not escape his notice.

The orator took Rhys's left hand and Jessa's right, holding them up for the audience and then bringing them together. "And now to seal the bond."

Up until now Rhys had been able to repress the gravity of the situation in the back of his mind, willing himself to ignore his own feelings. But with those words his sentence became concrete, his fears recognized. A face floated into Rhys's thought, one permanently pressed into his mind. All he could see was her golden skin, her striking hazel eyes, her strong cheekbones, and her wild dark curly hair. In a moment of sudden clarity Rhys was bombarded with memories, memories that grasped him so fiercely that he could not push them wayside. He could feel her lips on his, her soft skin under his hand. He could hear her laugh and her soft sigh. He could smell the faint scent of the sea, of salt and sand, the fragrance that lingered on her skin even off the sea. She was all he could see.

As Rhys leaned in, bringing his face to Jessa's, it was not Jessa that he thought of as he placed a soft kiss on her unmoving lips, but rather Seline. Despite his best efforts the sudden emotion that overtook him could not be repressed. Tears welled up in his eyes and he fought with all his might to shun them. He took a deep breath, regaining his composure. It was useless to dwell on such things - what was done was done. Though he was sure no one else had picked up on his brief lapse in composure, Jessa's queer look, the slight cock of her head, told Rhys that it had not escaped her notice.

"With a kiss you are wed," the orator's voice boomed, throwing the sound through the grand hall. Cheers and claps broke out through the audience, some sincere, simply happy to be at such a lavish event, others forced and necessary, as those from their respective families. Rhys and Jessa bowed and curtsied, respectively, facing the audience. Rhys could not force himself to look at his wife - even the word made him sick - for his thoughts were consumed with one thought.

It should have been her, he repeated to himself over and over. It should have been her.

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

Jessa looked out across the sea of unfamiliar faces and wanted to die. Her gaze stopped on Alistair, who she could just see over the heads and fancy hats. He looked devastated for her. She turned her head, her throat feeling tight. She breathed out heavily and rubbed the strange ring on her finger. It should not be there; it shouldn’t. She should still be free, not caged in this marital prison. Jessa forced herself to keep hold of Rhys’s hand and smile. After all, she should have been used to prisons: she had been in one her entire life. How was this different?

She pushed her maudlin thoughts away. If she were to get through this, she had to think of the practicalities, keep her brain active and far from her feelings. Jessa swallowed. She glanced at Rhys. Despite his family’s ease with deception and secrets, his emotions were plain on his face – to Jessa, at least. The guests did not seem to care. She studied his face, remembering the fondness in his kiss. The kiss had not been meant for her. She remembered his breath catch as he pulled away, fighting back what she had guessed were tears. It was impossible to think of any explanation except the obvious, but to admit that was to admit a Marinon might actually have a heart.

Though she had promised to view Rhys with an open mind, it was hard to believe it. Prejudices were hard to forget. But Jessa lived by facts and this one was clear: Rhys had had to give someone he loved up to marry Jessa, a girl he did not know from a family he hated – and a half-royal to boot. She squeezed his hand. She may not ever be able to feel sorry for Rhys, the Marinon criminal and murderer, but she did for Rhys, the man who had forsaken his lover. For his rotten family and a better position at court: was it really worth that? Clearly they did not live by the same ordeals.

The violins began their final song, which sounded more like a lament to Jessa. The newly-married couple walked back down the crimson carpet to the doors, arm in arm, both keeping equally-fake smiles plastered on their faces.

Once they were in the antechamber, away from prying eyes, Jessa dropped his arm as if it were on fire. Rhys did not appear to notice; he wasn’t really there with her. For the first time it felt like she was seeing the real Rhys, not his front, and she was at a loss. She reminded herself that, whoever he was, he was also part of a sketchy family business and was not to be trusted. For the rest of her life, Jessa would have to remember to keep her guard up and her wits about her.

Her father and his wife entered with all the superiority they possessed, Rhys’s parents not far behind. They ushered her and Rhys through a small door. In the room beyond, there was a mahogany table and a thick, open book. The book rested on a small stand and was sheltered from dust by a glass casing. From her position by the doorway, Jessa could see black script on the first page. She made out a name: the King’s. Next to it was the Queen’s. The next page was blank, but Jessa knew what was coming.

The Orator came in, with a swish of his ceremonial robes, and carefully lifted the glass away. From the folds of his cloak, he pulled out an old-fashioned quill and inkwell. He bent over the book and painstakingly wrote the declaration onto the page. Jessa saw Rhys’s name and then her own. She opened her mouth in protest as he once again omitted her mother’s surname, but closed it when she realised it would do no good. For these official purposes, it was her name. In life, Jessa could still refuse to go by it. She would always be Jessa Pryor in her heart.

When they were told to come over, they did so with trepidation. Rhys was the first to take the quill and sign his name. Once he was done, he lifted his head and passed the pen silently to Jessa. His face was pale. Ignoring him and the roiling in her stomach, Jessa read the Orator’s script and then scrawled her name beside Rhys’s.

Once their parents had signed as witness to the marriage, the Orator replaced the glass box and, with a swooping bow – and a glare for Jessa – departed. There was no getting out now, if there had been before. Rhys was her husband. The word was a thorn in her throat and a weight on her heart. She would never call him such.

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult,” Alrick declared. He turned to Rhys and, insincerely, said, “Welcome to the family. It is a pleasure to call you son-in-law.”

Jessa held back an incredulous snort. This show and blustering was too much for her to handle. She wanted to retire to her bedroom and never come out. But the world would conspire against her; there was still the banquet to endure.

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

The first moment Rhys could find in which to escape from the ruckus of the preparation for night's celebrations, he took off, finding himself a quiet place on a high balcony. It was a room he was unfamiliar with, one he was probably not allowed in, but he didn't care. Besides, he was part of the royal family now; he could do what he wished within the castle.

Rhys gripped the balcony railing hard, as if by lessening his grip he might fall over the edge. Perhaps that was a legitimate fear by some, that he might do just that. Though he would never consider himself suicidal the thought of the numbness of death was certainly not entirely unpleasant. It took him what seemed like ages to calm himself, staring out across the courtyard below and the city that surrounded him. There was something calming in watching the sky grow darker and darker until the only light came from torches that darted the ground below like little flickering globes.

Though he knew that the time for the night's celebrations was drawing near he could not bring himself to leave his sanctuary. Only the sound of footsteps approaching behind him brought him back to reality.

"I've been looking for you."

Vyserene came to stand next to Rhys, placing her hand on his as she partook in sharing his outlook of the city.

"Still thinking of Selene?" Though her words were a question in principle they were a statement in heart. There was no denying Rhys's feelings, especially to his own mother. Rhys nodded. His throat was tight and his voice raw; even the thought of speaking such words made his whole body ache.

"This is not what I wanted for you, Rhys, you know that. No mother wishes to see her children unhappy. However, this is what I expected to happen." Rhys looked at his mother, pain in his eyes as she spoke. "It happens so often, these arranged marriages. Sometimes I think it's almost a better thing to be poor, to be a lowly peasant. At least they have free reign over their hearts and minds."

"But why her?" Rhys pleaded, his voice cracking. "Why would you choose her for me. We have always hated the du Reine's just as they have always hated us; they are petty and stupid and easily manipulated, no better than commoners."

"Watch your tongue," his mother hissed, looking about her. "Are you so careless in their own house? I thought better of you. Yes, of course we have never gotten along, but even you can see the benefit in such a match. The du Reine's would like nothing better than to catch us in the act, to finally have proof of our lawlessness. They waste so much time being suspicious that they look right past what is in front of their face."

"So I am to be a pawn in your game?"

"No, she is a pawn. They discard her so easily, so effortlessly. They do not care for her safety and well-being, only that maybe, maybe something may come of her position that will gain them power. You, Rhys, you are no pawn. You are a castle. You can taunt them and display your power until the last moment in which you and you alone have the power to thwart them, to manipulate them in your own way."

"But it's still a game," said Rhys, his voice flat. "We're all still playing some silly power game."

"Yes, it's a game!" Vyserene exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "Life is a game, Rhys, you should know this. But you should also know that it's never silly, never in vain. It is the most important game we will ever play."

Her words hung in the air, wrapping themselves around Rhys's mind and teasing him with their promise. His mother nodded, deep in thought, and kissed Rhys on the forehead, smoothing back his hair as one might do to a young, sick child.

"Don't be late tonight," were her final parting words, leaving Rhys to his own devices.

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

Away from the ceremonial hall, away from Rhys, away from everything, Jessa managed to get her feelings in check. She was still dreading the banquet and, despite only being married for an hour, hated being someone’s wife. But she was calm now. Relaxed, even. Enough to think abstract thoughts about her research, at least, though the task was difficult without the texts in front of her. How she wished she could slip away for a few moments to pore over the Lord’s diary. She sighed, staring out of her dingy window until she heard a knock at the door. Tiredly, Jessa called to let them come in.

“Hello, Jessa,” Vyserene said, gliding into the room as if she owned it. She took one look at Jessa – glum, head in her hands as she gazed at the world – and sighed. “It seems I am to visit every depressed person in the castle.”

Jessa did not respond. She did not know the woman well enough and neither did she ever want to know her enough to spill out all her woes. Vyserene sniffed. “And the mute, apparently. I didn’t come to upset you, Jessa.”

Still Jessa kept her lips tightly shut. She desperately wanted to tell the woman to leave, but if she dared speak she would sound ruder than she meant. Vyserene had not had the chance to treat her badly; she did not yet deserve any scathing words.

“You will get used to this,” Vyserene reassured her. It did not comfort; it sounded more like she was reading a script. “It will not be hard and painful for some time, but it will improve. You may never love my son.” Jessa could not help but snort. The mere mention of love as a possibility was positively laughable. Without a doubt, she was able to promise never to care for Rhys as she should a husband.

Vyserene looked at her sternly, disproving of the interruption. “You should not scorn a future you cannot possibly know will not happen.” She paused, waiting until Jessa nodded. Jessa had never felt so small in her life, standing in front of a woman who, in her abrupt way, was kinder and more motherly than the Queen had ever been. It was undoubtedly unintentional on Vyserene’s part, who probably wanted to make Jessa feel more alone and uncomfortable. Vyserene, strangely, reminded Jessa of her own mother – though Emara was far gentler and would never have married into the Marinon family even if she had been noble.

“As I was saying: You may never love my son, but there will come a time when you’ll be expected to bear children. Children do wonders for arranged marriages. Your children will hold you both together and your union will have meaning. Our two families will be stronger for it.”

Jessa twisted around to stare at Vyserene incredulously. “Yes, okay,” she began sarcastically, “because I am sure the family really care about children. This marriage is to improve your position, not to seek our happiness. Children will not give us that, anyway.”

Vyserene stood, face blank; she was clearly surprised. Perhaps she thought, despite Jessa’s position at the university, that Jessa was stupid and gullible. Jessa may expect to be betrayed and killed by a Marinon at some point in her life, but she vowed never to be fooled by them.

“Yes, true,” Vyserene murmured, recovering herself. She stepped closer to Jessa and took her hands in hers. It was a false gesture, but Jessa did not squirm. Instead, she looked straight at her mother-in-law’s face, waiting expectantly. “The purpose of the marriage is to relieve the tensions between our two families. But it is true that, if you had them, you would love your children. Through them, you may come to love Rhys, or at least develop respect for him.”

This time, Jessa knew Vyserene believed her words. She could not refute them, even if it made her feel nauseous. She let her head thump against the cool glass as she waited for the sickness to pass. She would never have children with Rhys. The thought of it… No. She swallowed. They did not have to; Vyserene had said it herself. There were no expectations, so there was no need to dwell on it. Steeling herself, Jessa turned back to Vyserene.

“Do you speak from experience?”

“I do.”

Jessa was stunned into silence, her mouth gaping wide. How could someone ever love a man as despicable as Lord Erik Marinon? She could not conceive of such a thing.

Clearly realising that Jessa did not understand, Vyserene added, “It is wearying, disliking your husband for the rest of your life. You’ll realise it one day. A marriage is different to any other relationship. I accept it may be harder for you than me. My family had much closer ties to the Marinons, while you’re from a castle full of our detractors. You are bound to have prejudices against Rhys I never had for his father. Still, do not hate my son until you have reason for hating him personally.”

Vyserene curtsied and went to the door. She looked over her shoulder. “And by that point, you may find you have no ill feeling to give.”

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

The banquet was more of the same formalities Rhys had seen for the past few days: introductions, bows and curtsies, idle chat, political discussions, and awkward dances. The few changes came in the copious amounts of food displayed long the great tables as well as the large pitchers of wine and ale. Drinking to the point of drunkenness would have been frowned upon at the ball; here, however, it was a sign of celebration, and Rhys relished in this distinction. His first course of action upon sitting at the head of the main table was to ask for a flute of wine and to immediately down it, replacing it with a second. If there was one things these Ovisians did right it was alcohol production.

"Please remain some sense of dignity," Vyserene said in passing, nodding towards Rhys's drinks. He merely shrugged, taking another long drink. If there was anyone who shouldn't be villainized for attempting to numb their feelings with alcohol it was Rhys, and he felt no shame in playing the victim card for this night.

Much to his surprise, Jessa seemed to be partaking in the same activity as Rhys. They sat side by side in silence, sharing only the pitcher before them. Jessa drank nearly as much as Rhys, and were the situation and venue different Rhys might have even had a good laugh about it all, chatted with her like a friend in a pub. The situation being what it was, however, made that an unsavory option.

"You have good taste," Rhys noted, nodding towards Jessa's flute. Despite his self pity and poor attitude there was still a need for a break to the unspoken iciness between the two.

Jessa looked momentarily surprised, looking down at her own glass and then to Rhys's, but then to Rhys's own shock she snorted, shaking her head in bemusement. "I suppose I could say the same for you."

"I suppose you've started to notice a pattern in my party habits," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not exactly a social being in these awkward situations. Too many formalities, too few angry drunken fights for entertainment." Jessa smiled but kept her head down, probably not wanting to seem humored by Rhys.

"See, this is much better. We might as well get as inebriated now as possible; it will make tonight less painful."

All lightheartedness that had perhaps existed was immediately extinguished. Jessa's face went white, her breathing shallow. Rhys cursed his poor word choice, his own expression hardened. It was tradition for the bride and groom to be taken to a shared bedroom on their wedding night and locked inside until morning, both a nod towards the expectation for children as well as a form of entertainment for the friends of the couple. Of course, in arranged marriages this was much less of a laughable custom and much more a source of dread.

"That's not what I meant," Rhys said hurriedly, trying to mend his idiotic slip. "Of course nothing will happen, I don't want it to, I just meant..."

"May I ask for this dance, Your Highness?"

Both Rhys and Jessa looked up in unison at the speaker, equally shocked at their identity: the man was Dima.

"What are you doing?" Rhys scolded, frowning at his brother's grin.

"I am being polite, Rhys," said Dima, never losing his smile. "I would like a dance with my new sister."

Though it looked as though Jessa would rather sit on a bed of needles she did not look as if she particularly wanted to continue her conversation with Rhys, and so in the name of courtesy she nodded, giving her arm to Dima who led her onto the dance floor, leaving Rhys in shock.

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

Her head spun. She put her free hand to her forehead and pressed hard as she was led to the centre of the dance floor. Dima glanced at her. “Are you okay, sister?”

She nodded and turned to face him. Awkwardly, she rested her hand on his shoulder. He cupped her waist with his and she tried not to struggle away. The wine may have started going to her head but she still knew Dima should not be trusted. She still knew she was a terrible dancer. They swayed in time with the music. For a minute, Dima tried to engage her in conversation but Jessa did not answer and he soon gave up.

Jessa was just about used to the sidestepping when Dima suddenly twirled her underneath his arm. The world spun and she tottered on her feet. She blinked furiously and rubbed her temple before Dima caught the hand with his. He returned it to his shoulder and winked at her cheekily. Though she tried to scowl, it hurt her head to do so. She waited impatiently for the dance to end. In fact, she decided that she would have preferred to stay with Rhys, even with that conversation.

It was a horrifying thought that she refused to think about further until she had had more wine – and that thought was disturbing to her, too. Jessa had never needed to turn to drink to get by and she would not live by the bottle for the rest of her life. But today…she had to. It was wrong and it turned her stomach – and that was not just the wine – but she could not be locked in a room alone with Rhys with those expectations. Of course, she did not really think anyone believed it would happen, but it would still be unbearable.

The dance ended without Jessa knowing it. Dima led her back to the main table and it took all Jessa’s strength not to run ahead of him. He bowed and she curtsied and then he thankfully left her in peace. She fell back on her chair and flung out her hand for her wine glass. There was still a small drop of the golden liquid in the glass and she tipped in into her mouth, savouring its sweetness. She glanced sidelong at Rhys. His eyes were glassier than they had been when she had left. The wine had not loosened her tongue, or her shock at his previous conversation, so she turned away without a word.

They continued to eat and drink in near silence for about an hour. In the celebration, and the haze of alcohol, most of the guests had forgotten the reason for the party, which meant Rhys and Jessa were left blissfully alone. There were no requests for them to dance or to socialise. Jessa sat, staring up at the ceiling and tried to remember what she had been considering a few moments before. It eluded her.

“You know, I’ve always tried to stay away from cop– large amounts of wine. I can’t think why at the moment.” It was the first time she had offered small talk to Rhys. He looked at her in what she presumed was surprise at how forthcoming she was. The strange, uneasy emptiness in her mind and a sharp pain in her head had her saying, “Oh, yes. I know now. Never mind.”

Before she knew it, and after a few more glasses of the wine she somehow could not stop drinking, she and Rhys were ushered into a grand bedroom. The door locked with an ominous click. Jessa turned to Rhys and smiled evilly.

“Well, we both know what happens now,” she said, pulling off her gripping shoes and shuffling closer to Rhys. He looked like he wanted to scarper, even if that meant breaking the window and falling to his death. She laughed humourlessly and stopped just in front of him. She leaned in close. “Oh, really? No amount of wine could make that a good idea.”

She dropped onto the bed. It was far softer than hers and she snuggled into it. Jessa decided she really hated wine. She was not acting like herself and she felt incredibly funny. There was no doubt in her mind that it was a good thing to leave Ovis for that reason alone.

Opening her eyes, she glanced blearily at Rhys. “Don’t ever let me near wine again. This is awful.”

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

Jessa was out of her mind, completely unstable, can't-think-straight drunk, and it was one of the strangest things Rhys had ever seen. Her eyes had a sort of dazed quality to them as she stared at the ceiling, fumbling with the sleves of her dress absentmindedly. Rhys, having a much higher threshold of tolerance, not to mention a much larger body, was definitely drunk but still clearly able to function regularly. The difference between them was alarming.

"Ok, up you go," he said, helping push Jessa into a sitting position. "You do not want to be laying down right now until you're sure you won't throw up. Choking to death on your own bile would certainly be a pathetic way to die." Jessa looked disgusted at the very thought, bringing her hands to her mouth.

Rhys pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down facing Jessa. "You've never been drunk before, have you?"

She stared at him with that blank drunken stare for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I have once before. It was a long time ago, but I never felt like this."

"Perhaps next time you should not try and best me in drinking - I assure you I have more experience."

Jessa frowned and layed back, immediately to be pulled back up by Rhys.

"No, no, no," he scolded, keeping her up with his hand on he back. "Remember what I said?" Rhys's insistance on not letting her sleep seemed to be grating her, but she humored him, scooting back to lean against the headboard so that she could not so easily fall.

"I hate this," she grumbled, rubbing her temples with her hands.

Rhys stared at her, his eyes dead. "Being drunk or being married to me?"

All humor in the situation had vanished, and Rhys and Jessa soaked in the truth of that statement. Both new the answer to that question and neither wished to look at the other for reluctance to recognizing that truth. Rhys broke the tension by getting to his feet, crossing to the wardrobe against the far wall. He began by taking off his silly shoes and cloak, all those unneccesarly layers. At this point he was just thankful he'd been allowed to change out of the awful hose before the dinner. As he removed his doublet a strange sound came from behind him and he turned to see Jessa watching him nervously, her eyes wary.

"Don't worry, it's just a shirt," he assured her, pulling at his chemise. "I'm just making myself comfortable. You can take off your corset if you want. I won't watch." Jessa looked shocked that he would mention such a thing, but Rhys only rolled his eyes. "Don't be so prudish, I do know what you're wearing and I know how awful it is. You don't have to, obviously, it was just a suggestion."

Rhys moved back to the chair, folding his hands over his chest and staring up at the ceiling, wishing the night to end. Jessa still seemed to be contemplating Rhys's offer, sitting stiff and awkward on the bed. As Rhys took another look around the room, his first real evaluation of the chamber, he realized that besides a few sitting chairs, the bed, and an armoire there were no other furnishings, no form of entertainment. This was going to be a long night.

[Mollianne]

{name:Jessa#|#picture:47}

“I need more wine.” She looked around like a lost little girl, hugging herself. There was no way she would undress in front of Rhys. Not unless she was sure she would never have any recollection of the night. And she really wanted the corset off; now Rhys had mentioned it, it was all she could think about. She breathed heavily.

“No, you don’t,” Rhys replied mildly. Jessa pouted and flung her head back against the headboard. Her brains jumped about in her head.

“Ow,” she whimpered, rubbing her scalp. Rhys glanced at her.

They fell into an awkward silence. Jessa spent the time working up the courage to just take the corset off. She tried to remember the steps to undoing the dress and cursed the intricacies of female fashion. Spitefully, she supposed the Queen had this dress made purely to confuse Jessa tonight. She would not put it past the evil woman.

Jessa glanced up at the ceiling. “Can we leave yet?”

“No. It’s not even been an hour.” Rhys sounded distressed. Jessa groaned and let herself topple onto her side. In an instant, Rhys was beside her and hauling her up. She tried to push him away but he held onto her tightly. “What did I tell you?”

She sighed grumpily. Rhys continued to hold her up, like an unruly child. Jessa glared at him while she tried to remember what she could do to lessen her drunkenness. She finally asked, “Is there any water?”

Rhys looked as if he was about to reply in the negative, but he spotted a door in the corner of the bedchamber. Going to investigate, he found a small bathroom with a bathtub and a sink. Jessa had never had the luxury of an adjoining bathroom before, but when her head spun as she tried to stand she chose not to look. Rhys returned with a glass of water. Jessa downed in it one. It did not seem to help.

“How much longer now?”

“About five minutes less than the last time you asked,” Rhys said tiredly. He sat precariously on the edge of the bed.

“I want to take the corset off,” Jessa declared. She shooed him away with her hands. “Go away.”

Obediently, Rhys went to hide in the bathroom. Knowing she did not want to leave the comfort of the bed, Jessa wriggled as she fumbled with the laces until she was finally out of the dress. She looked at it in distaste as she tried to rip the corset off. Without looking, it was futile, so she quickly turned her full, drunken attention to the task. Amidst much cursing and fuming, she finally was free. Now she was in the unfortunate position of neither wanting to put the wretched dress back on, but neither could she move to the armoire to see if there was a night dress inside.

“Rhys!” she whined. Seeing the doorknob turn, she panicked. “No! Don’t come in!” The doorknob stopped turning. When she was satisfied, she continued. “I need a night dress.”

“What can I do about it from here? See if there’s one in the armoire.”

She looked around helplessly, throwing her hands in the air and letting them land on the soft mattress. Hating herself for needing him, Jessa explained, “I can’t move.”

“Well, unless I’m allowed in I can’t help you,” Rhys reasoned. Jessa fell silent, flummoxed. She looked around her. Her gaze landed on the sheets she sat upon. Annoyed at herself for not thinking of it earlier, she burrowed underneath them.

“Okay, you can come in. And then we’ll find something to do. This is dull.” Rhys emerged from the bathroom. “But just so you know, even with this, I still don’t like you.”

[Rosabeth]

{name:Rhys#|#picture:48}

This is ridiculous, Rhys thought as he opened the wooden armoire. There were a few shifts, two pairs of breeches, several gowns, and much to Jessa's pleasure, a night dress.

"Is everything in this damn palace red?" Rhys pulled the dress of the hanger and threw it to Jessa who held the sheets up to her neck with a vice grip. She carefully arranged her sheets so that she could use one hand to pick up the gown, looking over it speculatively, apparently deciding it would do. Rhys turned his back, staring at the lavish tapestry that hung upon the wall.

"Aren't you going to go back to the bathroom?" Jessa asked, her voice accusatory.

"Be serious, Jessa, are we children? I promise you as a gentleman that I will not look, though I doubt you could get the same promise from my brother."

Jessa attempted at a protest, but as Rhys refused to budge she eventually gave in. He could hear her shifting around in the bed, trying to put on a gown without getting up. It was a comical image he was sure, but Rhys kept his word, blankly staring in front of him. His mind began to wander and Rhys soon found himself thinking of Jessa's insecurity. Of course, Rhys understood her discomfort undressing around him, seeing as she did not look on him favorably and they were still in essence strangers, but there was something about the apprehension in her eyes, the tight grip with which she held up her covers, and her insistance on him vacating the room that made Rhys wonder if she'd ever been with a man before. It was of course improper to ask, and Rhys would never dream of saying such a thing, but it did not stop him from wondering.

"You can turn," came Jessa's voice from behind.

Jessa had reverted to her original position, lounging out on top of the sheets, her hands folded over her stomach. Rhys returned to his chair, this time propping his feet up on the bed.

"That's not very gentlemanly of you," she noted, nodding at his feet. Rhys merely shrugged. "I pick and choose which 'gentlemanly' tasks to partake in. Manners in private is not one."

The room was once again engulfed in the heavy silence that came every time they ran out of things to say. Jessa still looked sick, but her drunkenness allowed for her spirits to be higher than they might have been were she sober, and for that Rhys was almost happy.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"That's not a proper question to ask a lady," Jessa retorted, and to Rhys's immense surprise she emitted a true, child-like giggle. There was no questioning her inebriation.

"Like I said, I'm not always a gentleman," Rhys pressed.

Jessa shrugged, her fun over. "Twenty-six; my birthday was only a short time ago."

"Happy birthday to you," said Rhys with a snort. "Is this how you're always gifted for your birthday, with an unwanted marriage?"

"So it would seem," Jessa agreed, looking down at her clasped hands mindlessly. "Then again, what does a father get for his bastard child? I bet he's happy to be rid of me."

"I think he'd be happier to rid himself of your sister," Rhys joked, attempting to allieve the tension that had come over the conversation. "She looked as if she'd smelled something bad all night - she must be a joy."

Despite what was sure to be her better judgement, Jessa laughed a true, uninhibited laugh, though whether it was honest or brought on by the alcohol was unknown. Either way, it was the first time Rhys had heard her laugh, and the sound brought a slight smile to his face. Jessa suddenly stopped, the sound cutting off completely as she studied Rhys with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow.

"I suppose I'd rather see you happy than to see us both depressed, because I'm sure if we stayed silent that's what would come."