The smell of tea filled the room, its scent calming his raw nerves. He should not have lost his temper with the Patriarch. Artos was not king anymore, he reminded himself. He was not here to discipline his son or protect his servants from Brynjar's wrath, but the whole injustice of the situation. As the water was brought to a boil, he did not hear Evangelina enter until he he heard her voice.
"Brother Beorn? Brother Beorn? Are you alright? What happened?"
Her voice was beautiful. Even with his soul lost in the storm of his emotions, he could not help, but admire it, so different from those of the Byrdain or the Fjellborgans or even the Valmagne. He tried to give her a small smile as he set the pot of tea down and added the tea leaves.
"I apologize for my emotions troubling you, Lady Evangelina. I am... I suppose I am in a struggle with the Spirit. I have thought ill of not only the king, but my superior in this land," he confessed, reaching for a pair of cups to pour the tea in. He reached for the lemons growing beside her dusky hands, brushing them with his as he picked one to cut into slices to serve with their tea.
"Artemesia taught us virtue, but the good Patriarch rushes to obey him above all things. Above his honor. Above God. Certainly above the people he was taken from among. I have prayed ceaselessly, but I receive only the answer in my heart."
He led her to a small sitting area near some blossoms that were just beginning to bloom the spring's chill.
"Wicked men cannot be unopposed," he whispered softly. It was a small sound, but strength underlay it, like a centuries old oak standing tall and silent. He gazed at her. It did not escape him how the king looked at her, how he longed to break the strength he had begun to adore.
"Forgive me. I have forgotten your own trials. How are you? I wish you could have seen us at our best, but you see us at our worst."
Heat ran up and down his body. In his preparations for Ingrid's breakfast and their subsequent other activities, he had not noticed, but he could feel a fever growing in his skin. It was not deadly. Rather, he knew it would annoy him all day. But here, in his own bed with his beautiful wife's body entangled in his and her head resting on his chest, he felt doubly tempted to plead illness and lay with her all day. He felt her fingers tapping against him and he lazily snaked his arm around his waist.
"We should dress," she announced and he found himself nodding reluctantly, "I should be there to see my father off and you need to show me where this chapel is that we are to use."
They remained in bed and Leo brushed a strand of hair and kissed her cheek. It was an innocent gesture despite their previous activities. He would be content to just have her in his arms all day and admire her beauty. Those songs he heard every feast for as long as he could remember suddenly did not seem so silly now, but they had business.
"We haven't moved. Tell me we need to move."
"We have to move. If we don't do so now, we'll never get anything done," he replied, reluctantly. He sat up, resting on their bed for a moment before slowly standing up and beginning to dress himself. He smiled at her.
"My brother was short-sighted to ever refuse your hand and as always, I thank God for his stupidity. I pray her it continues to benefit us," he told her lightly, though there was a sort of steel behind his words. They had resolved to remove him from the throne for their own safety and the good of the realm. Once on this course, they could not falter. For their sake and for the sake of the child they had resolved to bring into being.
"Your reasoning is sound... Indeed, it is the Holy Chair's wish to foster greater ties with the Northmen so that hostilities may cease completely between them and Artemesian lands. I also hear he has been impressed by their berserkers and would deeply love to see them become Artemesian knights. He wrote a letter of approval to your father about your brother's match. I see no reason this match would not please him."
Truthfully, Julius was taken aback. Brynjar had never shown anything but contempt for the Northmen up until now. Now he wanted to wed one of them? He thought for a moment.
"It is a satisfactory match, Your Grace. Your vassals may not be entirely happy, however. It is one thing to lose your hand to a fellow civilized Artemesian. It is another to lose your hand to a pagan woman from our recent enemy's ranks. Rest assured, I will work tirelessly to placate them or, if need be, silence any objections through harsher means... You are certain Lady Elska will say yes?"