It did not take long for Alethea to learn that being a “Royal Advisor” was work. Lots of it.
Of course, so much of it was contextual. She’d been put to work before, but that had been the work of entertaining a queen and managing her dance card; this was the work of rebuilding a kingdom after war. It was a relief to be trusted, after everything. An even greater relief to be of use. But it did mean she had far less free time than she’d ever had, and she’d had to learn how to multitask.
Alethea was not very good at multitasking.
Take, for example, reading while walking. Great in theory – she could catch up on a novel or, in this case, a list of vendors from the Coronation, all while getting where she needed to go! Except that it meant taking her eyes off her steps, off her path, and in this case it meant colliding with someone. The papers floated out of her grip. An apology was ready on his lips. She laughed at herself.
“No, no. It was me,” she began, and then her laugh cut short.
It was him.
They had barely spoken. At first, the excuse was convenient: they had a war to win, and a Prince to protect, and there wasn’t time to address the past. But now…it felt like the further and further into the past the problem went, the harder it was to confront. What problem, she reminded herself spitefully, I haven’t done anything wrong. Try as she might to believe it, the rationalization never made it all the way to her heart. She’d made a mistake…they had made a mistake, and now it squatted like a monster in the room. But…had they made a mistake? Half the time she felt so embarrassed, the other half….
And still, he called her Thea. not Alethea. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.
He called her Thea, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“It’s nothing,” she said tonelessly, bent to retrieve the lists. The worst part was the way he dodged her, avoided her eyes, acting like she held something over him. As if it had been him or her and not them. Together. “I should have paid better attention.”
True then, true now.
Collecting the papers was the work of a moment; soon she was straightening, forcing herself to look him in the face. “Guy,” she began, wincing a bit at the name, “Listen…I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know…” what happened, she wanted to say, but was afraid to admit. “I don’t really know why we need to fix anything.” She did avert her eyes, then, staring at some point beyond his shoulder.
No. The worst part was, that everywhere she went, there were people that avoided her. She’d endured it under Mordred’s rule and she’d endure it, now. Again. For the rest of her life, it seemed.
“Is it really so bad, seeing me here?”
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