Queen's Light

Breathless {Part II}

The Queen was out of bed before the next day had passed. Some sort of energy had fogged her mind and clouded her thoughts. She knew exactly where it came from.

She hadn't seen Conri, but had received word of the Knight's departure. Rhiannon worried for her. Even though she had gone with Marcus, a man she only knew as a friend from Conri's past.

Desperately, she wanted to follow them, but even her heart knew it would not be wise for them to be together. After all, the Knight had given her word. The Queen would wait until Conri's return, and then deal with the circumstances as they arose.

However, doing so meant spending the next few days of her supposed recovery on edge, drowning in her nervousness. Her hands could never be still, her heartbeat was quick and erratic, her lungs occasionally forgot to breathe. There had still been no word as to how the investigation of her attempted murder was going. It only added to the anxiety.

Hann had confined her to bed for three full days after her poisoning, but she became restless after only one of them. When the old healer stepped out, when Rhiannon wasn't being watched, she slipped out of bed and into a tunic and pants, going through training exercises in her bedchambers. Keeping her mind focused on what her body was doing helped to distract her. If only momentarily.

Something told her that the poisoning had not been a mere assassin's deed. Someone far more skilled and far more knowledgeable had a hand in this. Whoever was behind it had access to magic, an enchanter or sorcerer of some sort. As Queen, she was tolerant of magic—many other kingdoms' rulers could not say the same—but even she knew that in the wrong hands, it could be extremely dangerous.

Her arms were burning. How long had she been in this position? A second? Thirty? She could stay longer.

She knew...She could not expect him to return with Conri. She could not expect him to return at all. Her conversation with the Knight had given her much to reflect over. What she really, truly wanted? Of course it was to have him back. For things to return to what they once were. She wanted to appear at his doorstep, ask him what had happened, comfort him in the harrowing memory of it. But she knew...The comfort she had been able to give had never been enough. She had always had the feeling that he wanted more than her. Whether or not that was true was not for her to say. Perhaps it was her own insecurities speaking for him. She knew she could only offer closure. For both of them. She wanted him back, surely, she could not deny it. In her heart, she knew she still loved him. Likely would never not. But having him there was not her decision to make.

And yet...she could not shake her guilt. Would events still have played out as they did had she chosen to keep her distance? Chosen to remain nothing but a Queen to the Seneschal? Squashed any iota of feeling she might have felt in favor of formality? Would he have gone, then, to fight? Would he have stayed behind, opting to allow the enemy to come to them? Rhiannon was well aware of the fact that his care for her at the time was not the only reason he had left to fight in that war, yet she could not shake the sensation of being at fault for it.

She collapsed to the floor, sweat pouring from her brow, arms and abdomen shaking in defeat. She would certainly feel it the next day.

Good.

She pushed herself up on her elbows just as the door opened, Hann striding in. The healer's eyes widened in shock at the sight of Rhiannon lying on the floor. "Your Majesty, what in Amser's name are you doing?"

"What?" Rhiannon replied with a half smile. "Never seen someone exercise before, Hann? I'm shocked."

"How on earth—" Hann shook her head, her brow wrinkling together. "You should hardly be able to stand, much less...I don't know how you do it, My Lady."

"Turns out, I'm quite resilient." She pushed herself to her knees. "A bit hard to kill, so to speak."

Hann shook her head again, gesturing to the bag slung over her shoulder. "Yes, well...I've brought your evening poultices. If you would, Your Majesty."

"Yes, yes," Rhiannon waved her hand dismissively at the old woman as she brought herself to stand and made her way to the bed. "My favorite ritual."

"Your Majesty." Hann's tone sounded mostly disappointed. Like a mother chastising her child. "It's necessary for your recovery. We don't need a queen who is consistently near death, now do we?"

Away from Hann's view, Rhiannon's lips twitched.

"No," she said. "I suppose you do not."