Ariella

ix. Lover

After that night, they begin to see each other more often. They make wild and feverish love on her father's featherbed, in the gardens at moonlight, anywhere with a bit of privacy. They drink red wine from her father's crystal goblets and feed each other pomegranates. They do all of the dangerous intoxicating things they have only dreamed of before, and kiss each other with the scent of red roses on their breath.

But these moments are few and far between. They are both constantly occupied with work. And like it or not, he is still a married man, so they must be careful. Any mistakes could lead to disaster, so she must drink silverleaf tea, a bitter substance Rhihalla swears wards off pregnancy, and slip into his chambers using an out-of-the-way passage at night.

Ariella knows why, but she still hates it. It is her hatred of this veil of secrecy that precipitates their first fight-not as empress and advisor, but as lovers.

"Would it really be so bad?" she demands. They are in her chambers, soiled and satiated from their nearest bout of lovemaking. "If they knew? We could be empress and emperor together. You know no one could oppose us. And if they did, we'd kill them like we would any traitor. Why do you hesitate?"

"You know we can't afford to think like that, Ariella," he says placatingly, spreading his smooth white hands out across his lap. She hates how he can so easily reduce her arguments to juvenile rebellions. "You are empress. Whatever the case, people will judge you more harshly than they would your father. You know that. And besides, I have Angila to think of."

"Since when did you care about that twittering whore?" Ariella spits.

His fists tighten. "She's my wife, Ariella, not a whore."

"Oh, so am I your whore now, Alastair?" she retorts. "Virtuous, reputable High Lord Cielaré, always so pure and saintly, with your whore of a wife and the empress you're making a whore of. But you will never be called a whore, because you're a man and noble besides. And if we are caught, doubtless you will say I tempted you into sin. I see it now. What am I to you, a pawn in your games?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm going to go now. We can resume this conversation after you're done making attacks on my loyalty."

"Then go!" Ariella screams, picking up the small enameled dragon sculpture by her side and hurling it at him. He ducks. It misses his head by inches, shattering against the wall. "What are you waiting for? Get out!"

He makes a slight bow in her direction, which she finds so insulting she nearly throws another figurine at him.

After he is gone, Rhihalla comes in. "My lady, I heard voices...Do you require-?"

"Leave me. I would be alone."

After the handmaiden exits, Ariella walks to the door and picks up a shard of what had once been the dragon figurine. That was badly done. I should not have lost control so easily.

And yet...I want him. Can't he see that? He mustn't be angry...he knows what he is to me. What he is doing to me. I love ruling, and I have a talent for it, anyone can see that. But just because I am empress does not mean that I do not have the same wants as any other. That I do not want to be loved and have someone to share in my sorrows and joys. I may not be beautiful, but I have a good heart, I think...I could make him a good wife.

But he would never want me. Ours is a romance of the mind, easily put aside, easily forgotten. He will be done with me soon; I have no doubt. He has a wife who loves him and many other admirers besides, but I...I have no one, only him.

Something Valarys had said all those years ago comes back to her now: Silly girl, what do you know? Men only want one thing, and once they've got it they'll soon be bored. There's only one way to make them stay, and that's to leave them with a burden they can't abandon. And the ghost of a plan begins to enter her mind. Clever, cruel sister, how right you were.

Smiling, she calls Rhihalla back. "Rhihalla, I will require no tea tonight."

--

Despite their argument, she still makes her way into his chambers that night. And perhaps the fight did change something after all, for their lust for each other is unbridled. His hands caress her skin, weaving the length of her dragon tattoo, from her back to her thighs, then to fondle the sweet wetness of her loins. He impales her; her hands rake bloody scratches up and down his back. It is not slow and sensual, but hard and inelegant, and yet Ariella knows this is what she wants.

Apparently, the High Lord had similar feelings, for they do it again the next night, and the next, until Ariella's head is swimming with lust and love and lust and love and lust and love.

A week later, she is pregnant.