The queen's gesture was small and barely noticeable, invisible to the crowded feast hall, even the king himself, but the maiden saw and rushed forward to fill Queen Tella's outstretched goblet. She handled the movement deftly, never looking to the serving girl and never twisting her torso away from the farce.
The queen set the goblet down gently and gave the king a slight tap, just enough to bring his attention to the wine. He took it without turning and started to sip.
The queen didn't need him blackout or stumbling, she just needed him tired. She had to be absolutely certain he wouldn't wander around the castle in the late hours of the night. She'd been making movements all night and the movements were small. When the king coughed between bites she held out his goblet helpfully, offering a solution. She kept it full and just in the cusp of his vision. He was too fixated on the play to notice the performance she'd been putting on.
Most days the feast hall was a place for dining and nothing more. The king and his advisers sat at the great table, overlooking the ancient, oak tables where the leaders sat. The guests often rotated, some days it was opened to the subjects, some days the king hosted allies and the rest of their party, other days he treated the men in his army to a feast, and it always was a feast. The king's staff worked tirelessly, and the kitchen was always bustling, day or night.
Today, the feast came second to the show. It took almost a week for the troupe to set up a stage at the far end of the hall, and the set was as vibrant as the queen's lavender gown. The costuming was woven as intricately as her bodice, and the troupe's voices rang as loudly as the king himself.
Laughter shot through the hall and the King's was more uproarious than any others. Spittle and crumbs of the breaded duck shot from his mouth. Queen Tella wiped at his graying beard, and held out the goblet, just to be sure he washed down his laughter.
Tella had a moment to watch the show. Everything came with a musical cue, and the pit sat alongside the stage. A pair of lutes accompanied a goatskin drum, while a Hurdy-Gurdy kept the melody. Some of the actors sang in time while others focused on dance. A few only spoke, cracking jokes, and falling as the drumbeat accentuated the laughter.
"Careful," a voice said, and there was a hand on the Queen's shoulder. "You wouldn't want him too drunk would you? As far as anyone can tell, you've yet to perform your queenly duties, and you can't delay forever. Need I remind you about his majesties first three wives?"
Tella gulped her wine to gather her nerves, then turned to face the only man she truly feared. Rane was the King's father and he wore his age like armor. His white hair had mostly fallen, only leaving behind a horseshoe. Deep scars ran across his cheeks and his beard disappeared where it met the scar tissue.
"If I hear word you flee the castle at night one more time," he said, his voice quiet, but articulate, cracking like a whip, "I'll lock your door myself. I'll tie you to the bed if I must."
Tella tried to keep her eyes forward. She'd been so focused on the wine she'd long lost the plot, and when she managed to watch the show, she focused on the actors themselves, not the character. She had to be certain she could trust them all.
Rane's hand was still on her shoulder and his grip was tightening. The King noticed his presence and turned to interject.
"We're just having fun father," the king laughed drunkenly. Rane's grip loosened, but the motion was reluctant.
"You need to keep your kingdom."
The king swatted the motion away like an annoying fly and the three looked back towards the stage. The hall well past full, with well over two thousand heads all watching the performance, save for one single face turned the opposite way, watching the King's table.
The man was Taynor, Rane's second son. He sat one table down, still surrounded by nobility, but an obvious distance from the king's own party. He knew his position, and he knew his role. Still, he watched with eyebrows raised and eyes full of envy.
Tella tried to ignore the watching face, but he'd seen everything. He watched to read lips and he never missed a trick. He noticed how much drunker the king was than the rest of the party, and the man kept on staring. The Queen felt her young heart start racing, and she forced herself to look away, back towards the show.
The crowd started to applaud and the queen joined in nervously. Her flared sleeves felt heavy and muffled as they swung against each other. Still, Taynor kept watching.
The jugglers gave way to acrobats. Tella wiped a nervous dot of sweat from her forehead and she glanced back, just to make sure Rane had left.
"Your grace," she said, more direct than she'd been all night but time was running out, "some more wine?"
He took it without looking and drank greedily. The acrobats were forming a tower and the shuffling of feet ran backstage. The troupe was preparing for the grand finale. Some in the audience started to stand, and it became a cascade, a necessity to see over the heads.
The band swelled and the gymnasts held out their legs, testing their strength. The jugglers tossed even higher, adding a tenth and eleventh ball to their circulation. The singers hands swung in a delicate balance as they reached their crescendo, as the dancers paired and swung around the stage. The fools joined last, and as the entire troupe took one final bow the king's meaty palms roared in applause.
The music fizzled and chatter started to fill the great hall.
"Your Grace," the queen said again, "we should get you to bed."
The king kept clapping, and when he was determined, he was an immovable object. A gentle tug on his sleeve wouldn't make him budge, even as the crowd began filtering from the hall.
He didn't move until his squire held out a hand, and the small king's party made their way back towards the royal chamber. The two disappeared into the room, and for the first time all night, the two were alone. Tella stepped forward gracefully, and helped the drunken man with his cloak.
His eyelids were fluttering, and he had to brace against the wall for balance. Tella stood with his robe open and waiting. He tried to speak, but he was losing the battle with sleep. "Don't you," he muttered, another quick stumble, "Need help with the dress?"
"I'm fine," she promised. She slipped his arm through the sleeve, and helped him with the pants, "I can manage the corset. Let's get you to bed."
He fell back reluctantly, but the feather mattress swallowed him whole, and his eyes sealed shut. When he spoke, his words were a last breath, "Don't you wanna..." he mouthed, "Come to bed with me?"
I've been trying,
The queen thought,
For months. But you've denied me every single night, and have left me with no other options-
"I don't want to keep you up," was all she would let herself say, "Good night my king. Sleep well."
It wasn't the first time Tella had seen the man drunk, and she was certain it wouldn't be the last. Still, she stood frozen until his snores turned thunderous, and his breathing came in a steady wheeze. She stood and watched with crisscrossed fingers, and a heart that raced so fast it tried to leap free from her chest. She never tugged at the corset, and never slipped her shoes from her feet. She was a statue, frozen in place from the weight of the task she had.
There came a point when she could delay no more. The king was asleep and his snores were a coo. She crossed the chamber in her evening gown, and gave the king one last glance before throwing open the wardrobe. Even as she pulled the burlap cloak over her gown, her eyes stayed fixed on him. Her heart never slowed, and her breathing came so quickly she'd started to hyperventilate.
Tella finished running her arm through the sleeves. She fixed the rolls that caught at her hip. She slipped her shoes off and padded across the stone tiles. She eyed her husband one final time, and reached for the torch.
She raised the hood mid-stride, and knelt against the corner tile. She lifted as quietly as she could, her ears laser-focused on her husband's snoring. The passages had been built more than a century ago, and to her knowledge, the only ones who knew of them was her, the king, and his father. They led between bed-chambers, and ran behind the castle's walls. They'd been built by a king who feared a siege, but they'd serve her purpose nicely.
