23. No right

[moonshadows]

When the door to the study opens, I don’t bother looking up from my book. The Royal Guard and Golthak would have kept out anyone who had no right to be here, or questioned anyone else but the king or the prince – and Anduin is in bed. Varian’s footsteps are more than just a hair uneven, and I don’t need the scent wafting over me to tell that he’s past tipsy. My heart turns to ice, keeping panic momentarily at bay with cold anger. I stand up, not looking at him, in a futile attempt at leaving the study but he places himself directly in my path.

“We missed you at the ball, Tari.”

The scent of wine on his breath, combined with my nickname-! He dares? He dares? My hand is in motion almost quicker than thought. I see his eyes widen at my expression, then narrow as his hand moves to intercept mine, but then he jerks it back against his chest and my palm strikes his cheek with a crack. He stands there, hand curled against his chest, head turned, eyes closed, and does not move.

“You do not have the right to use that name, my lord,” I hiss, fingernails digging into my palm in attempt to keep from striking him again. As angry as I am, and as inebriated as he is, we both know that he chose to let me hit him.

“Thrall calls you that,” he says quietly, eyes still closed.

“That’s different.”

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me and cautiously opens his eyes. There is no hostility in his expression, just a sort of forlorn wistfulness that I do my best to ignore. He gets no pity from me, not reeking of alcohol.

“Why?”

In that one word is a world of quiet pleading. Perhaps another time it might have softened my heart, but right now I see Blackmoore too much in him.

“Because I love him.”

Varian rocks back, verbally slapped, and I brush past him before he can recover. As I storm back to my rooms, I listen for his footsteps following me but they aren’t there.

 

===============

 

The book I had left in the study is on the table in my sitting room the next morning, a note tucked between the pages.

 

The pain in my cheek ensures I don’t forget how badly I messed up last night.

Please tell Anduin I will be there at breakfast.

- V.

Now that it is morning, I feel a twinge of guilt over striking him like that. After all, the consumption of alcohol by itself is not a crime, and he did let himself be hit rather than risk triggering a panic attack. I choose a heavy, rust-brown dress to be my armor and re-braid my hair before venturing out for breakfast. If he is going to be apologetic, I will need the extra barrier between his eyes and my heart.

Anduin waves a fork cheerfully at me as I enter the room, and I give him a brief hug before taking my place at the little table and helping myself to corn-cakes and butter.

“It’s just us today,” he says between bites of egg and sausage. “Father usually doesn’t care to eat breakfast the morning after a celebration.”

“That’s where you’re wrong today, son.”

Varian steps into the room cautiously, as though I might attack him at any moment. Although his eyes are tired and he looks like he spent all night tossing and turning, he is damply clean and his hands and voice are steady. He flinches just slightly at Anduin’s joyful cry. When he sits, he moves as though he’d been at weapons practice too long. Well, perhaps he had. I pour a generous glass of juice from the carafe and hold it out to him.

For a long moment he does not take it, searching my face with an unspoken question in his eyes. When I incline my head slightly he takes the glass from me and drinks. I lay a few pieces of toasted bread on his plate while he empties the glass, and am ready with the carafe when he takes a moment to breathe. Again he looks at me, silently asking why, before extending the glass for a refill.

“I should not have struck you,” I say quietly as he nibbles the toasted bread cautiously.

“You hit him, Taretha?” Anduin looks back and forth between us. “Why?”

“I said something inappropriate,” Varian answers before I can. “I’m glad you did,” he says to me. “I needed the reminder of how not to act.” Sourly, he eyes the bread before taking a vicious bite and chewing grimly. “Taretha, can we talk after breakfast?”

“I’m done,” Anduin pipes up. “I’ve got loads of reading to do anyway.”

Varian nods at his son, who gives me a hug on his way out.

“Why?” he asks once we are alone, gesturing to both bread and juice.

“Because you made an effort to correct your mistake.”

He gazes thoughtfully into his glass before draining it again. “If I hadn’t gotten the hint last night, this would have been my warning.” This time, he pours from the water jug. “While I appreciate the kindness, particularly with the way my head feels, I don’t want it to happen again.” The look in his eyes is iron determination. “I will not be Blackmoore.”

“Why did you let me hit you?”

“Because he wouldn’t have. Because if I had stopped you…” he trails off, vulnerable and apologetic. “I did that to you once. I won’t do it a second time.”

“Why didn’t you duck?”

Varian grimaces. “Because I was too drunk. Taretha…I know I have no right to ask this, but…” he takes a deep breath and unleashes the full force of his sad eyes upon me. “Will I ever earn the right, or have you passed judgment on me?”

I stare at my now-cold corn cakes, struggling with myself. I want to say no, but I don’t want to hurt him like that. He’s a good man, despite the idiotic things he does sometimes. I just wish he didn’t have his heart set on winning mine.

“Am I that hopeless, then?” His voice is barely louder than a whisper.

“You are a good man, your Majesty.”

“Then why do I feel like the better a man I become, the more you avoid me?”

“Have you ever thought that I might not want you to win my heart?” My eyes are still on my plate, my voice empty of inflection. I don’t want to see the look on his face.

“I would settle for friendship,” he says softly. “Anything to keep from feeling that my presence is unwelcome to you. Just say the word, Taretha. I love you, even if you hate me, and I want to make you happy.”

“Then do not pursue this,” I say shortly, and leave the table.

The rest of the day I am walking on eggshells, afraid to meet his eyes and afraid of what he might say, but he is distant and polite. Still, it takes a few days before I am calm enough in his presence to not keep my expression stony. It seems that Varian was sincere in his desire to keep me from avoiding him; the charming smiles, the half-flirtatious comments all stop as though they had never existed. It is oddly refreshing, not having to be on my guard all the time, and I find myself occasionally enjoying his company.

That only makes it worse.