You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of Slaine - 4

By the time winter comes along again I'm quite comfortable in my routine.  The Queen and I spend our days together mostly, soon she's less teaching me and more letting me make decisions while she's there for advice. There are endless events to plan, wardrobes to prepare, meals to plan, marriages to help arrange, along with any number of domestic concerns that fall to us such as dealing with repairs to the palace or purchasing new horses or going over the budget.
In fact, I work nine or ten hours a day in the end. But I still find time to slip a book from the library and sit up late in my room. Ita comes once she gets off, and I'll read to her my new favorite poem or a short story. More often than not we'll wind up laughing till the early hours of the morning and she must slip back off to her room to be ready for wake up call, and I pass out in my bed until she herself rouses me for breakfast.
In all, I'm quite happy.
None of that has to do with my husband.
I see very little of Conri. But when I do see him he's entirely kind to me. I'm all right with that at first, but then I begin to notice something.
The calm, almost jovial manner he uses for me?
He uses it for everyone. He is distinctly, kind, to everyone. His parents. The knights. The servants. He has a kind word for all of them. He'll pause and ask any servant how their day is. He knows everyone by name. He remembers to ask after new babies and sick relatives. It's soon quite obvious that Bran's words were true. The people do love their prince.
He's always there; it's a soft smile and a kind word. If a homeless peasant stops him in the street he'll pause without question and offer a coin. More often than not he'll take the knights to the market, or the warf. Chat with incoming sailors about their travels, question the farmers as to the state of their crops.
His trips are far from wasted. He'll come back and provide his mother and I with lists of news, be it gossip, or concerns of the people he thinks we should be aware of. Sometimes we already know sometimes word from the mariners proves at least entertaining.
He's a popular prince, but our relationship moves nowhere from where it was our wedding night.
Oh he's quite nice to me. He's polite and charming. We do all manner of ceremonies together and the like, and while we take dinner usually with his parents they will sometimes take dinner alone, or travel, leaving us to talk. He tells me stories of his day, and asks nicely about mine.  He jousts often as he can manage, that is as his father allows, and I go to those, however he's with his knights not with me. But I do find I enjoy cheering him on, and the excuse for Ita and I to spend a day out of the palace, dressed up, whispering to each other as we comment on the match.
But we're both busy with work most of the time. And it feels like despite being 'married' we pass in the night.
There's not much court gossip. A little. There always is. But to an extent I'm well on the young side of child bearing years. It isn't completely uncommon to wait until late teens to earnestly attempt for a child.  I'm younger than most of the noble women of my station. A few are close to my age, those betrothed or newly married to some of the knights. I find some good company in them, as they too are learning to keep house, not at my scale, but still it's similar enough.
Most of the unmarried noble women have crushes on my husband, which is a bit weird. He's ever polite, but at any sort of party is loyal to my side, arm politely linked in mine or hand in mine. I don't mind it, he's excellent at small talk and while I grow more confident I don't mind at all his easy, smooth manner. He was born and bred for this, I merely trained, and his honeyed words flow like wine.
But by the end of the year I think we've had maybe three private conversations, and every one was business related.
For Christmas usually the royal family travels, we made brief plans to see my parents but I said 'Oh we don't have to worry about that too much' and the King is ill again, and so we drop it for a quiet holiday here in Bray. The King must give his Christmas speech, and the Queen and I arrange to give out Christmas baskets to the poor in the morning. We aren't going to have Conri 'oh your roof is leaking here me and three knights will come and fix it it's not a big deal we're not doing anything special' Bray, come and help us because we don't know if we'd necessarily get him back inside the palace properly. That sounds like a very specific example and that's because it's happened. Twice. When I'd seen his schedule he was definitely busy. But the King insists that Conri will get lost on his own with the knights if we don't find him an activity so we do. He actually grumbles about it.
"Hmmm, I might have plans," he says, mopping up gravy with a biscuit as we sit at dinner.
"Son, it's Christmas morning," The Queen says.
"Sleeping is a plan, Lady mother. Sleeping counts as a plan."
"Oh? And what do you 'plan' on doing the night before?" The king scoffs.
"This may really surprise all of you, but also sleeping?" Conri says, hurt.
"Come, someone might need their roof fixed where would we be if you weren't there?" I ask.
"That's happened three times," he says, grinning.
"Four," his parents say, in unison.
"Happened before you were here, love," the King says. He and I don't have a lot do with each other but he calls me 'love' like he's my grandad and I've chosen to find it sweet. I heard him calling me 'the nervous kid' the other day. I also chose to find that sweet.
"Fine, I'll come, but I did have plans."
"Sleeping isn't a plan."
"Yes! Yes it is!"
He comes to help, and despite his complaints is his usual, cheerful, good natured self. He helps us distribute the baskets, the knights guard us but they don't seem too sullen about it. As per usual, Conri proves popular, while the peasants who come do smile and curtsy to us they more freely talk to him, or rather he has the gift to get them talking. He has an uncanny memory for faces, I confess I confuse nobles, but he recognizes our common citizens.
"Slaine—Slaine this is that weaver I told you about this summer bought you that tapestry you remember? Yes, how's business been?—it is a hard winter—," he motions to a bent old woman who shakes his hand, and presses coins into her hand along with the basket. I smile and nod, though I don't remember. He more often than not brings things home I don't recall what was intended for me I highly doubt he actually gave it to me it probably just wound up in the palace somewhere.
We end at noon and go home to our own Christmas feast. Most of the nobles within traveling distance of Bray are involved in that and we have to circulate, ever performing. I have to answer innumerable questions about my first Christmas here.  I have endless polite answers, of course.
We send the majority of the servants home early, the ones who stay the night got the morning off. I am able to dress myself and gave all my ladies in waiting the day off, even if I sorely wanted Ita's company after such a long day of being proper and social. I've come to rely on our chats to relax, I tell her how I really feel about the nobles or funny things that happened, and she eases me with stories from the kitchens and among the knights.
But I let her go home, it's only fair. And I'm more than capable of dressing and undressing myself for one evening. I feel restless though. It doesn't feel like a true Christmas it was a long and arduous day like any festival or ceremony or other.
I make up my mind to find Conri. Just talk with him. Go for a walk on the grounds and look for snow. It's probably been over a month since we even had a private conversation. And he is my husband. 
I'm not going to go knock on his room; he won't be in his room. In the evenings he's usually chatting with the knights, or in the kennels with his beloved dogs, selecting one or seven, very slowly, to join him in his room for the night after kissing every one on the nose and telling them what a good dog they are. That sounds very specific and that's because I've seen him do this more than once, and if his mother has to find him in the evenings she finds the nearest servant and says, "Go fetch my son he'll be in the kennel kissing all of his dogs and selecting an unreasonable number to smuggle into the palace like I tell him not to daily."
So I'm pretty sure that's where he'll be. I put on a deep grey, wool dress, select a shawl, and make my way down to the kennels. The brisk walk through the near empty palace is peaceful in and of itself. It's actually quite pretty here, when you stop to look. The stained glass windows stretch floor to ceiling, showing might battles between knights and dragons.
There's a covered walkway out to the kennels, but I walk outside of it to look up at the stars. Sure enough, the kennel door is open. I know for a fact the houndmaster was sent home for the day.
A lantern glows inside, and I step into the doorway, about to call out to Conri, when I see him standing at the end of one of the rows of kennels. Blessedly I stop myself from saying anything, for he's not alone.
He's leaning against the wall, in the shadows, clearly kissing another man. In a flash I recognize Bran Gallagher.  Conri has the much smaller man cradled in his arms as they kiss the other's mouth, the dogs are quite clearly entirely used to this, and feel my face flush as I back from the doorway, a sickness filling my stomach.
I don't know what to make of it.
I've heard mutters about men enjoying the other's company more than women, but I didn't ever know why it was wrong? After all, it made sense I supposed women enjoyed women more than men. I didn't know they meant that.
And I'm filled with a weird sort of dread yet, he's never claimed any affection for me? He's always been polite he's barely kissed me, he kisses my cheek in public nothing more. And of course he perpetually has Bran by his side.
And what am I to say? He knows what he was doing and he chose not to tell me. Now it is simply something I know.
I'm completely rattled,  when I make it back to my room. So much so I slam the door and give Ita a fright.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, leaning against the door, hugging my wrap around my shoulders.   She's in a pale blue, periwinkle dress and there's snow in her hair.
"I ah—I did think you'd still be at dinner—- I'm just going to leave now we're going to pretend I wasn't here—,"
"Stay, " I sigh, so tired, "I'm glad you're here. I'm always glad you're here."
"Are you well, mi'lady? Only, you look like you've seen a ghost," she frowns.
"You can tell no one, that this conversation happened," I sigh, sitting down at the end of the bed.
"Definitely, absolutely not will not even admit to being here," she nods, as I pat the bed for her to sit next to me. "What is it?"
"I was looking for Conri—my husband—and I saw him—kissing Bran Gallagher," I say, wincing.
"Oh, god, wow," doing a very poor job a feigning surprise.
"What—you knew?" I ask, annoyed.
"I mean—-yes?" She winces, "Sort of."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's not what one says out loud! Also, it's one of those things that everyone assumes is obvious—,"
"Why?"
"He—the prince—,"
"Yes go on."
"He's one of those men, isn't he? Even before you were married there was never talk of him flirting with any of the girls he'll give them a dance then on his way. And he spends all his time with his knights he always has, I didn't know it was Sir Gallagher, no, but you know they are often together. It's not all that, uncommon, among the knights, or the men. You'll see them, they don't go anywhere without the other, swearing to be best friends but preferring the other to either of their wives. We don't talk about it, but it happens," she shrugs, "I am sorry. I'd have told you if I'd realized you didn't know."
"I'm so stupid," I sigh, "Don't be sorry. It's not you it's me. I should have—it doesn't matter I suppose. It's not like I love him."
"You don't?" She asks, softly.
"How can I? I barely know him—it doesn't—matter I suppose," it matters if he's going to be kissing me someday which he will but so far he's not.
"It does if you're upset," she says, gently.
"No I—I'm fine. It's fine," I sigh, "I'm tired I suppose."
"I'll be going—,"
"No, wait, why did you come?" I ask, frowning, "You had the day off?"
"Oh—I ah, didn't expect you to be back, from dinner. And I just thought—well—it seemed sad that no one was going to give you a Christmas Present just because they liked you—so," she holds out a small, seafoam blue, handkerchief, trimmed in blue.
"My favorite colors," I say, softly, taking it.  She's right of course. My parents sent a broach, and the Queen let me pick out appropriate tokens weeks ago, all that has to look good for the nobles and the like. Nobody gave me anything just because. I don't think anyone ever has before. I didn't even think of it. "I didn't get you anything—,"
"No, I'm fine, really, had Christmas with my parents. I just wanted to leave it so you'd—whatever. Anyway, Happy Christmas," she says, going to the door.
"Happy Christmas," I say, holding the cloth carefully and not knowing how to say I don't want her to leave.