Chapter Text
The queen wasn’t yelling, but her voice had that hard edge that Brandon had come to loathe. The flinty one that dripped with disdain, derision, or carefully metered confusion–whatever would maximize the damage to her opponent.
And right now, her opponent was her daughter. A common battle that Brandon could never and would never understand. For the umpteenth time he tried to visualize his own mother in Queen Luna’s space but came up empty–few mothers he’d met were like Luna.
Then again, her daughter was unlike any woman he’d ever met, too; a fact that filled Brandon with immense pride even as the queen’s icy tongue rent the tense air.
“Why, pray tell, did you grant another audience to the artisans guild?”
Stella remained standing in the same position she’d posed in when the herald had announced Luna’s arrival, behind her desk with her hands clasped gently in front of her. Her face was a picture of practiced patience.
“Because they are my people, and I will hear them.”
Luna’s shoulders inflated like a balloon’s, indignant. “They knew the drought was coming and didn’t adequately prepare. That isn’t the crown’s fault–”
“But it is my responsibility.”
Brandon kept his face impassive but the surge of affection for Stella flooded heat into his chest. Not “the crown’s” responsibility. She claimed it as her own, her, Stella, not a nebulous throne or trinket that symbolized her status.
Luna’s lip curled into a sneer, but instead of challenging her daughter she switched tactics. “Don’t think this excuses you from the tea I arranged with Helion.”
The flash of heat turned into white-hot rage that Brandon took a deep, silent breath to temper. Of course she’d bring up the ridiculous betrothal she was trying to force on her daughter, and of course it was while he was in the room.
At last Stella moved, a look of frustration finally crossing her features as she tossed her hair in an exaggerated display of apathy. “No matter how many teas you arrange, Mother, I will not marry that man.”
“Ah, right,” Luna cooed mockingly, her eyes flitting around the room, passing straight through Brandon. “Still committing yourself to that mistake?”
“Committing, yes; mistake, no.” Again Stella moved, this time pushing her desk chair in and turning to the window although she kept her face in profile of the queen, unwilling to admit the degree of disrespect of fully turning her back. “Is there anything else you’d like to lecture me on while you’re here? Perhaps my needlepoint stitches are not fine enough, or my Eraklyon is still too heavily accented?”
The words came out coiled like a viper. “Everything I do for you, Stella, is for your benefit.”
“It certainly doesn’t look that way.”
Luna raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you’ve blinded yourself this time.”
Stella’s mouth opened in shock and Brandon’s fists curled at his sides at Luna’s caustic remark about Ricki. Every time he thought the queen could sink no lower, evidently she was still willing to strike such a blow, knowing how sensitive that was for Stella all these years later.
It took all his self-control to stay rooted to his spot. Moving, rushing to her side, comforting her would just make it worse for Stella, and as much as he hated his position for having to suppress his instincts, he knew better than to risk making the queen even more irate. Instead he remained stock-still, miserable in his helplessness at the power struggle between mother and daughter, but as he turned his body to face her, her striking blue eyes found his and in the pain and strength in them he loved her even harder.
The princess turned again, away from his position by the wall and towards the window that displayed the sun-soaked hills surrounding the palace. She gave no retort to her mother, instead the gift of silence. At last the queen huffed in anger, turned her heel, and strode away out the door.
She had barely stepped out of the entryway, the sound of her herald’s footsteps dying away, when Brandon rushed forward. Even in those few seconds, with every step he could see the pressure in Stella building to the point of collapse. She sagged backward just as he reached her, his arms closing around her shoulders while she melted into his embrace.
He gently pushed his palm against the nape of her neck, cradling her to his chest, letting the moment of grief and anger wash over them both.
Finally he took a breath, guilty at her silence. “I should have said something,” he said into the crown of her head, lips muffled against her hair. “I shouldn’t have let her just walk away.”
When Stella finally looked up at him, her eyes were glassy but her cheeks were clear of tear streaks. She shook her chin fractionally to the side. “No, you did the right thing. I need you here.”
He stroked his thumb up her bare arm, wishing they were curled in the safety of her bedsheets or his bedroom, small as it was. Somewhere in which he’d have the power to do something, to not stand idly by while Stella led her kingdom despite the numerous troubles they faced daily–by her side, but not really, not fully, because Luna didn’t approve. “You know I don’t like it.”
She roused herself enough to wind her arms around his waist, pulling him even closer so their chests pressed against each other. She rested her chin on his chest as she gazed upward with that same sad smile on her face. “It’s the only way I can have you in my quarters without her knowing.”
He snaked a hand up to twist a tendril of her hair. “I know. I just wish…” he let the thought trail off. They’d already had this conversation a thousand times. He hated the thought of enduring a thousand more, but he would if that’s what it took to be with her.
She swallowed, watching him with world-weary eyes whose weight he knew carried so much. She reached up to cup his cheek and he leaned into it, always seeking more of her touch. “One day I won’t have to make you invisible to be by my side. One day we’ll find somewhere we don’t have to hide.”