the_lioness | (no subject)

By late winter, Alanna found herself in the unique position of being utterly and completely certain, sure right down to her very bones, that she would die for Jonathan... but only if she could keep from killing him first.

It was an interesting conundrum.

"Curse it all, why can't I think?" Jonathan exclaimed one evening when Alanna was bent over a book -- she had been on the same page for half an hour thanks to the Prince's outbursts -- and Jon was composing yet another love poem to Lady Delia of Eldorne. "Her hair is as soft as... Goddess, it's like... like a newborn chick!" Jon frowned.

Alanna flipped to the next page; just for show, though it had the side benefit of keeping her fingers away from Jon's throat. "By all means," she drawled, "compare Lady Delia to a chicken."

That would go well.

And when was the last time the prince of the realm touched a live chicken, anyway? she thought darkly. It was better than considering when he last touched Delia's hair.

Lady Delia of Eldorne had entertained herself this long, cold winter by wrapping every eligible -- and some not -- male at court around her dainty finger. At first Alanna hadn't minded; the more attention everyone paid Delia, the less they paid her. She had even smiled at the girl's antics from time to time, remembering her elaborate hair styles and plain convent clothes in Milliways, her excitement at the idea of court even going so far as to erase some of Alanna's own cynicism. It was fun, she had to admit, having that shared secret between them. Delia's flirtatiousness didn't hide the girl's intelligence, however, and the more Jonathan forced Alanna to dance with Delia the more Alanna started to worry. Delia was so feminine, so sharp, so perfectly suited to the games at court, that Alanna began to fear she would manage to ferret out her secret before anyone else, even her close friends Gary and Raoul.

It helped that Gary and Raoul had been gone a month now, of course.

"When do you think Duke Gareth will allow Gary and Raoul to return from border patrol?" she asked Jonathan, ignoring the frustrated growl he gave at the interruption. Another piece of parchment covered in what only the most obsequious of courtiers could call poetry met its doom in the fire.

"Not soon, I should hope. What foolishness, fighting a duel over Lady Delia's riding glove," he groused, mouth twisting into a grim smirk.

The fire crackled, giving off a puff of smoke as the parchment turned to ash. Angry words bubbled up Alanna's throat, and she knew the tension in the room would also go up in flames as soon as she spoke; still, she couldn't hold them back. "Says the man determined to liken his lady love to something fowl," Alanna burst out.

Another page made a snapping noise as it was flicked aside and the silence lengthened between them. Unkindly, Alanna wondered if Jonathan was having to work out what she meant in his love-addled brain.

"Are you jealous?" he demanded at last.

"What!?"

"Jealous! I've seen you hovering about her, fanning her, bringing her lemonade!"

Alanna jumped to her feet, bristling almost as much as Faithful had when he first caught sight of Duke Roger. "Because you ORDER me to, you buffle-brained idiot!"

"Careful, squire..."

"And because once I show her any attention," she went on, "Delia is loathe to let go of the Prince's squire! She's no fool."

Jon lifted his chin, stiff and proud. "Lady Delia."

"Yes, yes. Lady Delia. Can't you see what she's doing to all of you? Gary and Raoul, even Douglass and Sacherell!" Alanna pauses to reflect that the two squires accompanying their knight-masters on winter border patrols, all of them smitten with the same woman, might actually have the worst of it. "And all of you angry with me when I'm just doing as you command!"

"Maybe you like it more than you want to admit," Jon accused, advancing on her, temper turning his blue eyes cold. "Maybe you think fawning all over her will make your masquerade more believable. And thus you think to keep me away."

Alanna felt like someone had dumped ice down her tunic. She could feel it working down her spine, freezing her legs in place with a full-body shiver. "What?" she asked in a small, furious voice.

Even as regret softened his expression, Jonathan couldn't seem to stop himself. "You are honor bound to serve me, squire."

"Yes," Alanna snapped. "I am, and I do. You're not even making sense. I have tried to be your friend through this -- your despair when she looks at someone else, your joy when she doesn't, and all your horrible poetry in between. One moment you're brooding, the next you are over the moon at the mere mention of her, and worst of all, she knows precisely what she's doing to you!"

Turning away, Alanna glared at the open door to her small room. She needed to be elsewhere, needed air, and while slamming that door in his ridiculously lovelorn face would give her some satisfaction, it would leave her trapped and angry like a spitting, cornered cat.

Last night, Jonathan had slept with Delia. She knew he had, though he hadn't come out and said as much. Then Delia had flirted with someone else, and now Alanna and Jon were fighting over Delia, and Jon was calling her jealous -- which she wasn't.

She wasn't.

Alanna didn't think she would be able to forgive Delia for being the cause of her first real fight with Jonathan. If they were going to argue like this, it should be over something important, something meaningful, something that affected the realm they both loved.

Not Delia.

Jonathan breathed in like he was about to speak and Alanna threw up a hand. "I want air, my lord. Find someone else to torture with your next attempt." She stomped away from him, gathering her cloak and then another -- better safe than sorry, and she planned to be gone for a while. "I'm sure they won't mind listening to how Delia's lips are as pink as a piglet, or her eyes as green as a vile fungus on a rock! Maybe they'll even agree."

"Alanna..."

She allowed herself one last look. Jon blinked as if confused, running a shaky hand through his hair, and Alanna decided he probably hadn't slept in a very long time. Perhaps he would now. Perhaps he'd wake up and realize that Delia was drunk with new found power and toying with him.

Except he still didn't see what Alanna did when she looked at Duke Roger, so what hope was there when Delia turned his head with kisses and flirtatious smiles?

Alanna didn't slam the door to the hallway, but only because she couldn't do so without drawing attention to herself. She did make a mess of one of Commander Sklaw's practice dummies, however. As she stood puffing over it, her white-knuckled grip on Lightning as tight as when she began, she told herself it had been a long time coming.

And she wasn't jealous. Not even a little.