Chapter 13 (Mark Question)
In his quarters, Tresstom paced back and forth, aggravated despite himself.
If it were possible, his shoes would've worn their imprints permanently into the pristine marble floor. The prince paused only long enough to snatch up his goblet of wine from a nearby table and take a hearty – yet mannered – swig before setting it down again. Some unpronounceable elven vintage, he'd been told. It was quite fine, though a bit tart. Nothing compared to Doma's finest, of course.
The hot, acrid burn of the alcohol settling into his stomach did little to ease his mind. Not even the best entreaties of his better, calmer nature prevailed over the sinister, oblique antagonism that befell him. Twas not his accommodations that achieved such – the room was spacious and fit with all the very best furnishings befitting a prince of his stature.
If only barely.
No, his aggravation centered around a certain elf-maid princess!
Independence and even free spiritedness, he understood. Condoned, no, but understood, yes. It was improper, true, but these were elves – females at that – they could have no true claim to the kind of refinement and culture present in Doma, or even a second-rate empire such as Metria. Allowances were to be made. He could not command otherwise. It was not his kingdom.
Not yet.
One slender finger tapped thoughtfully at the goatee adorning his chin, to change that meant his betrothal. He already had that, but there was now some... uncertainty. A potential rival whom he had not foreseen.
Namely one Kal-El.
"The swine." Tresstom spat.
His steps quickened, aggravation growing even greater still by the moment. Left, right, left...
The intrigue of the court was as sophisticated as it was treacherous and it was a dance Tresstom had learned and learned well. It helped that his prize was beautiful. Not disagreeable at all, at least. Once the contract was sealed and they were married he could... bring her... prickly proclivities into line, but he had the feeling things were slipping out of his control. But what to do?
Doing nothing and pacing as he was certainly wouldn't help. Tresstom decided he needed to find her. It was true in the time since their betrothal he hadn't spoke but a few words to her. Perhaps if he spoke to her... yes! He was equipped with equals parts intelligence and charm, was he not? Though powerful, Themyscira had been disconnected from the outside world for too long. They needed his people more than Doma needed the elves. The truth spoke plainly to him. He would make sure it spoke to her as well. And if that failed, well, there was always the charm...
But where to find her?
A short walk and a few minutes later found him at the wing to her quarters. But a very maddening figure suddenly moved into his path, intercepting and barring his way. Chest clad in a thin sheath of chain-mail, the newcomer stood imposingly, thigh and knee guards strapped to powerful looking limbs, spear gripped firmly between strong fingers. A tuft of auburn hair peeked out from underneath helmeted head.
Infuriated, but containing himself, he smiled. Charm. He was a man of finesse, even if these heathen females couldn't quite grasp the term.
"Pardon, but I'm here to see my betrothed. Move aside." The prince commanded the sentry haughtily. He moved to proceed forward, but was again surprised – and most offended – when a hand stopped him.
"My apologies my Lord, but the princess has requested not to be disturbed."
He paused, but only long enough to hold back a sneer.
The nerve!
Tresstom amended his last thought. Not only were they craven in their ways, but ill-trained as well. He held his tongue though, staring down... well, up, actually, these elves were really quite tall, but that was neither here nor there – staring up at the impertinent palace guard obstructing him, finally letting the ire he'd kept so well contained curl his lip.
Where had she come from? She hadn't been there on his last visit to his betrothed's quarters.
No matter. If the civility of his words would not quell the misbehaving elf-wench before him, then so be it, he would resort to a language she would possibly better understand. The forceful heel of his foot!
"Perhaps you did not hear me." He began. 'Though I could not imagine how' He muttered, referring to her ears. Unsightly things. Watching the guard's eyes shift from indifference to a glint of irritation was gratifying. Perhaps he was making some progress. "I am Tresstom Peenflank, Prince of Doma, Princess Diana's betrothed. Now out of my way."
"I know of my Lord's title."
"Then bear me entry."
The tall guard sighed, seeming to give in. "All due apologies my Lord..."
Tresstom felt a measure of relief. For a moment he'd thought she was going to be unreasonable, or... more unreasonable, anyway. Clearly his title held some meaning here. He walked forward. Perhaps he'd been too hast–
"But," The elf began again, voice bored, "the princess wishes to be alone." She finished. "No exceptions."
He wanted to screamed.
Heathens! They were all heathens, the whole lot of them.
––
"There you are."
Hippolyta found her daughter standing in one of the palace balconies overlooking the gardens, leaning against the balustrade and gazing into the lush greenery below. Diana turned as her mother, and her queen, approached.
"I thought I might find you here."
"Oh," She turned, "Mother."
Her curiosity must have shown because the older woman raised an amused brow. "When I sought to find you in your quarters, only to discover them empty I naturally suspected you might come here. Obviously I was right."
"Naturally." The younger woman intoned, some nostalgia creeping into her voice. "What was I, five?" She asked, again following the trail of the garden's northern end with her eyes.
"Six." Hippoylta corrected. "You always did delight in getting into trouble and torturing your handlers. They spent nearly a week trying to eject you from the maze. A third of your guard thought you'd been eaten by some sort of forest nymph, another feared you starved, the other were too accustomed to your antics, they only sought to prevent Philipus..." The queen paused, humored enough at the memory of the Captain of the Royal Guard's exasperation at trying to manage little Diana that she laughed.
"I know." Her daughter joined her, "I was terrible. Philipus was very angry with me."
"Not angry, just concerned."
"Angry." The dark haired elf insisted. "Even after they found me I ran from her, thinking her some sort of forest spirit, covered in honeysuckles and creeper vines."
"Perhaps." Came the wizened allowance. "Those were better times. Much has changed. You're now a woman." Hippolyta pointed out, both parties sensing the conversation had become serious. "The world is a bit larger than the garden grounds and royal arboretum. And do not believe I haven't noticed that you've appeared troubled these last few days, or that I've failed to deduce the reason why you're here and not in your quarters."
The young – relatively, compared to her elder and mother, at least – elf turned her head. "Are you referring to Kal?"
Hippolyta tensed. Not in anger, but alertly, and perhaps, with some burgeoning acknowledgment of something she should have seen earlier. Gaze averted, Diana didn't notice.
"Have you laid with him?"
"Mother!"
"Forgive me." The queen requested, softening. "You are my child." The allowance was momentary."But as your queen there is more at stake here than your wants. It is a necessary thing to ask."
"I... I wouldn't." But did she want to?
Silently, Hippolyta believed her daughter, but as any queen amongst one of her subjects, even if it was her daughter, what she voiced and observed often needed segregation. Out loud, she observed what she thought was obvious. "And yet you refer to him on a first name basis. Such informality is most improper."
"Not everyone has a title or honorific, mother. Not everyone is royalty as we are. I... needed to call him something. It's that simple. Nothing more need be read into it." She finished, vaguely exasperated.
"Interesting."
Now it was Diana's turn to narrow her eyes, though her tone remained respectful. Always that. "What does that mean?"
Hippolyta sighed. "Your fiancee was looking for you. Again." She looked around, understanding precisely why her child chose this particular spot. It afforded privacy. And escape.
"I know."
"You do not like him, that much is obvious."
"Do you?" There was a touch of impatience in her voice.
She didn't. And it was possible that she had too hastily committed to an error in judgment in selecting him. "It is a mother's place to command and her daughter's place to obey. You've always been too stubborn to realize that." The queen spoke from pride. "Have you stopped to consider the consequences of breaking such an engagement? We are powerful, but do not underestimate the importance of allies, or the folly of forging enemies."
The younger elf was becoming agitated, but she reigned in her temper. Knowing that her mother and queen was trying, in some small, subtle way, to prod her to overreaction. Quick to anger were children; a childish habit. Reserve and patience the trait of wisdom and age. She would not make her mother's argument for her.
"Perhaps." She conceded the latter point. "But mayhap you were always too occupied being a queen to learn understanding. That is a mother's role as well."
"You speak harshly."
"I'm... sorry." But it was what she felt. "I spoke out of turn."
"Do not apologize. You've never been a liar, my child. Do not start now. Speak your mind."
Diana frowned.
"I fear you would not wish to hear it."
"Speak."
There was silence. Almost to the point that Hippolyta thought Diana continued to resist, and would not speak her mind, neither to her mother or queen. About to speak herself, the older woman was preempted as the younger elf asked:
"Was it not yesterday you admitted Tresstom may have been a... miscalculation? Have you changed your mind? Are you still going to insist I wed him?" Truth be told, Diana despised the man. She, an immortal elf-maid, was not so estranged as to be incompatible with the idea simply because he was human. It was only because he was an insufferable ass. Never mind the man's personality, he had the name and countenance of a five-year-old.
"Do you think me cruel? I have not. When you return from Metria, and this quest is completed, another suitor can be chosen. The next one will be more suitable."
Diana stared at her.
"We are a matriarchal society. Immortal elves separate and removed from man, forgive me if my question exceeds my bounds, I respect our traditions; you know that. But... but why should the law of my union be dictated on their terms. Shouldn't I have say? It is unfair."
"Indeed." Hippoylta decided Diana had been right, she had not wanted to hear that. "Life is unfair."
"But you are queen. Why do you play by their rules?"
"May I ask you ask question, my daughter? What have your... companions told you of themselves?" Hippolyta asked carefully. Before her, Diana's face warmed, happy to speak of them, relaying to her what she knew of each – James the squire, Dark Knight Bruce of Gotamworth, even Patrick O'Brien. When it got to Kal-El, she hesitated.
"And the Champion of Metria?" Hippolyta pressed, referring to him by formal title. "Has he said anything of his past? His history?" She questioned nonchalantly.
The younger elf was too distracted to wonder at the probing nature of the query. "Kal... Kal is... I don't know."
"Your majesty."
Diana never finished her thought, and both woman turned at the sound of a new presence. It was none other than Kal-El himself, said Knight of Metria. He seemed to sense he'd intruded, and made to bid a retreat. Hippolyta's voice forestalled him. The queen swept what light robes she was adorned with about herself.
"No need. I was just concluding things with my daughter." She made to leave. "I will speak with you in the morning, before your departure." With that, she left.
"I apologize for interrupting."
"Don't; you weren't." Diana excused softly.
Immediately, he was want for something to say. The she-elf, meanwhile, only continued to stare off ahead. Keen blue eyes scanning the gardens with a meticulous, if unnecessary, air. It was lovely and it was familiar, but she'd seen it all before.
Despite himself, Kal-El couldn't help but take her in. Slender wasn't quite the right word to describe the vision standing before him. From the pointed, upswept tips of her ears trailing down to the regal, delicately curved 'V' of her jaw. Slender fit, maybe even beautiful, but alone, neither word, he thought, spoke to the breath of the woman before him. The confident strength exuded in her movements. A rider's posture. Supple curves met by toned muscle.
She was a wonder.
And he was staring. Thoughts undoubtedly written across his face. No better than if she'd snared a magical lasso about his person, forcing the truth unbidden to the surface.
It troubled him.
"Thank you for bringing me here." He said, somewhat stiffly.
"Themyscira?" The elf-maid had not expected him to say that and her surprise showed. "I would've thought you eager to leave." She admitted.
He had been. When had he stopped? "Maybe."
She followed the path of a faraway sparrow to its nest, a bundle of furs and twigs atop a distant branch. To human eyes, it would've seemed a aimless, wondering gaze. "Themyscira is very beautiful." She acknowledged.
Kal didn't bother to look.
"It is." He agreed, voice soft. Not gazing at anything but her.
She looked to him, catching his gaze before he could look away.
"Your eyes presume much." She observed lightly.
Kal was bold. But she already knew that.
"Forgive me." He stated, not feeling or sounding at all contrite.
Diana frowned faintly, the words reminding her of her mother's.
His next changed that, however. "You're pleasant to see."
Had he just said that?
"Only pleasant?"
Had she?
"Nay." Kal-El denied, meeting her eyes. "More than that."
She waited only a beat, asking before she could debate against the wisdom of it.
"What else?"
––
Speaking to the guard stationed in front of his betrothed quarters had gotten him nowhere. Tresstom had long since relented. Clearly his attempt at civility and basic reason with the female was an overestimation of her intelligence on his part. He was not perfect, though it might've seemed. He made mistakes.
Frustrated and about to give up, a very simple observation became particularly relevant.
If he could not find Diana, perhaps he should instead locate this "Kal-El" he'd seen her with. Surely probability in tandem with the philandering of said charlatan – it was obvious what he was – would find him in her proximity. Scum had a certain consistency of behavior that could be exploited and predicted, so long as one was of sufficiently good intellect.
"Excuse me."
The royal caught a passing maid, inquiring after the man. Maintaining a fiction that he needed to speak with him urgently. Naturally, she suspected nothing. Not that she would have reason to, anyway. It was a perfectly innocent request. It wouldn't do to ask after his whereabouts to his companions. Particularly not to that Dark Knight, if what he knew of the two was correct.
He found Kal-El just as the disgraced knight was exiting his quarters. The corridor that made up the guest suite was a wide necked cobblestone paved walkway with an open wall facing the east palatial grounds.
Swiftly and before he could be seen, Tresstom moved out of view, pressing his back against the cool stone of a connecting pillar that linked out into the open. A spike of anger laced through him at the depths he was reduced to! It was a stain on his honor. Bearable only given the alternative: being outmaneuvered by an upstart charlatan and losing his prize. This kingdom. A fulsome smile pulled at his lips. The princess.
Quick, measured steps shadowed the man at a safe distance. He had no way of knowing the man's skill in detection. This lurking and pussyfooting around was anathema to his character. It pained him. Pained him such that as he trailed the taller man, he calmed himself with dual fantasies; one was of Themyscira and what he would do when – not if – he became king. The other was darker and had little to do with ambition for power or lust for might. It stirred at the back of his mind, delicious imaginings of creamy thing and flawless, unblemished throat. How he would run his fingers hungrily over both. May she would even enjoy it. The carnal thoughts stirred his nether regions into a uncomfortable tightening, an almost happy grin lighting his features.
Abruptly, he chastised himself as he realized he'd lost track of the Metrian around a corner. Doubling back just in time to duck for cover as he again caught sight of the man speaking to the selfsame guard he'd wrangled with earlier. Hidden behind a fern, Tresstom eavesdropped on the conversation.
"... wish to be disturbed." The guard was saying.
Tresstom frowned. At least that was consistent. For a fleeting heartbeat, he'd entertained the notion the woman might have been lying to him specifically, just to ward him off. A fanciful and ridiculous notion if he'd ever dreamed one!
"She's very tired." The elf finished.
All the more reason she should be in the presence of her betrothed, the royal thought.
"Is she all right?" Kal-El asked, taking a half-step forward, sounding genuinely concerned.
Eyes narrowing, Tresstom paused in his observations to take further stock of the Metrian. He was obviously more devious and cunning in his own deceptions then he'd initially given him credit for. Twas no wonder he was courting the princess.
The guard's expression actually softened. Tresstom silently fumed, he'd received no such pleasantry!
"She is," She allowed. "I will tell her of your concern. What is your name?"
"Kal-El." Was the swift reply.
"Kal-El it is." The guard acknowledged. With another nod of thanks, Kal-El moved to depart, but stopped short, scratching the back of his head in what was no doubt another calculated, cunningly boyish manner.
Oh, he was good, Tresstom thought. Very good.
"If I may ask, where is your library? I've been here nary a fortnight, but I haven't been able to find it and had not thought to ask until now."
The elf actually paused, seemingly surprised. Another feat the royal thought from his hiding place. He'd believe her comely features only capable of icy indifference. The saucy wench.
"Why?"
"I'd like to know more about Themyscira."
"You... you actually wish to read our history?"
"Yes. Is that unusual?"
It... It is. Most outsiders... visitors don't. We do not advertise it because it contains mention of magic. Some react strongly to that, thinking out gods and goddesses pagan and unholy." There was a pause. "You, however, do not?"
"I... nay. I cannot say I rightly should." He admitted. "May I have the knowledge of the knowing whose assistance I've benefited from?"
She frowned, appearing caught off guard by the request. "I... am Ethonya."
He nodded one last time, acknowledging her. "Thank you for your help, Ethonya."
Ethonya. He would remember that name once he became king.
"Wait," The sentry called, sharp, elven features pinching as she seemed to deliberate something quickly. Her features evened. "The princess is not actually in her quarters."
Kal-El's brows creased. "Why are you telling me this?"
"She went to the library, so I tell you nothing now that you would not have found out for yourself later." She frowned. "I saw her with you." At this, Kal-El actually managed to look convincingly embarrassed. The guard looked ready to say something else, but held her tongue. Instead, she merely stated: "I do not trust this... Prince Tresstom of Doma.
Said royal hadn't remained to hear the end of it, instead rushing off.
The library!
He knew where that was. No doubt Kal-El would be fast behind him. Grudgingly he admitted the Metrian had outplayed him. Pouring honey down the witless sentry's throat until he had all the information he needed. When he arrived, he found the library empty. Had she lied, he thought? No, she had told the truth. He was almost certain. He moved towards the gardens, nearing them and hearing voices. His steps slowed.
"... would not wish to hear it." Diana was saying.
"Speak." Hippoylta. Tresstom recognized her voice easily.
Silence.
And then. "Was it not yesterday you admitted Tresstom may have been a... miscalculation?"
Tresstom's eyes widened.
"Have you changed your mind?" The princess was continuing. "Are you still going to insist I wed him?"
His fists clenched. Molars grinding so hard they filled his ears. Trembling, he was trembling.
With rage!
"Do you think me cruel?" Hippolyta responded. "I have not. When you return from Metria, and this quest is completed, another suitor can be chosen."
The queen... was condoning this. Had she no sense of propriety? Her next words crushed him.
"The next one will be more suitable."
Time seemed to slow for him. Momentarily, thoughts of avarice or spite slipped from his mind. He stood from his hiding place, stumbling away just before Kal-El happened by. For the first time unsure of what the pressure pushing between his ribs, almost inclosing on his heart was. It was surreal. It felt as though someone had reached into his chest, fixing their hand about his organ and squeezed. He'd felt it once before, when he was seven and his loyal hound Patrefkin had wondered out of the palace grounds, never to be seen or heard from again.
They would pay for this... this humiliation, he thought, mind hungry again. Fixated. Feverish.
They would all pay. That insufferable jezebel and her trollop of a mother both!
Yes.
Already a plan was forming...
