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They had not planned to meet, but after Irene watched her leave for the rooftop, she sent an attendant off with a message and sat in the private audience room, not too far from her chambers, waiting.
She had not been forced to wait long, Eddis stepped into the room and ushered Irene’s attendants and guards out with a smile so sweet Irene was almost jealous. Then they were alone, Helen bracing against the door as if struck with a blade and Irene sitting by the window, staring at the maw between them.
Irene tried to form a bridge. “It does feel a bit like poison, doesn’t it?”
Helen laughed, then crossed the room to her arms, nodding. She bent over as Irene held her jaw, using a handkerchief to wipe Helen’s tears away. “Melancholy is beautiful on you.” Irene murmured, holding Helen’s chin tight as she tried to turn away from the compliment. She took in the sight, the dark eyes made glassy from tears, and darker curls spilling over her forehead, gleaning still from hair oil. Irene kissed her bitten lips before releasing her.
“I don’t mean to seem such a mess.” Helen said. Irene noticed that, like her cousin, she tended to pace when she spoke, it was a dangerous thing when she was still. “I am trying to not think about it. I have too much riding on this to think about it.” She lifted a small table and placed it beside the door, before moving to push one of the couches leaning against the wall to the center of the room. Irene chose to not help, preferring to watch her arms through her dress’ sleeves. “I mean, I am certain Gen and I can find a workaround, but I would rather it not come to that.” She lifted its twin couch from the adjacent wall, seating it directly against the other, forming a makeshift bed. She sighed as she leaned against the couch-back. “I don’t want to think about what it would mean, if we are forced to find an alternative.” Irene yawned. Helen chewed her lip. “I have to write him a letter.”
“Is your preamble finished?” Attolia rose. She met Eddis where she stood. “Look at you, sending mere boys away for the good of your country.” She brushed her cheek before spilling onto the couch, lying on her side. “You have made your choice, now come lie in it.”
They abandoned their crowns at the foot of the couch, curling beside each other. Irene watched Helen as she spoke, looking at the ways her eyes drifted around the ceiling as she spoke tentatively, testing every sentence as though they were glass steps, exploring where her thoughts took her. She preferred to listen to Helen speak, the queen had a way of pulling secrets out. In the alcoves of time they made for each other, unspoken traditions painted boundaries the way words never could. Where Irene found she prodded the very edges of boundaries, Helen charmed her way through the walls. She was playing with Irene’s hand, grazing the branches in her palm with her smallest finger. Irene allowed the distraction, drifting in the sensation, closing her eyes. There was little for Helen to read in her stillness, little for her to take that she had not taken already.
She had perhaps dozed off to the sound of Helen’s voice, when there was a light knock at the door. Propriety and form had her freeze in the moment, suddenly aware of every pin and lock of hair out of place, the odd crease in her sleeves, her lips missing a touch of rouge. She watched Helen, who sat up as the door opened. Her face remained unchanged. There was the noise of glass against wood, then the door closed. Helen shifted away, and Irene found her breath.
“Were you caught unawares?” Helen asked. She slid out of the couch, seeing something Irene did not. “When you first realized you loved him?”
“It was like a blind spot. I hated it.” Irene moved to sit up, suddenly aware of how tired she was.
It had been a plate, fruits sitting away from pastries. Helen offered Irene a grape in exchange for her voice as she sat back down across from her.
“I had already known I thought differently than my courtiers. I practiced the motions that my attendants seemed to know instinctively, blushing and giggling and whatever dainty affect they could conjure. Of course, I am certain it is still much an act for them. And yet,” she looked up, and her hand moved before her mind did, brushing honey glaze from Helen’s lips. In the single motion, Irene etched the divots and corners of her bottom lip, the feeling of slow, slick honey against a thing so similar to skin. She drew her hand back, gazing at her thumb. The curiousity that spurned the motion fizzled quickly.
“You do these things on purpose.” She muttered.
Helen ignored her, handing her a napkin to wipe her hand. “And yet?”
She squinted at Helen. Then pressed her thumb into her mouth, watching for Helen’s expression, and savouring as the queen’s eyes widened by a hair, tilting her head. Satisfied, she snatched the now-falling napkin and wiped her hands clean. “And yet, when the eldest son of Erondites proposed to me, I had sworn it to be a poem. A mistake none of my attendants would have made, no matter their performances in courtship. I knew then that it was not a matter of being a season too late, or having my focus centered elsewhere.” Irene sighed as she pressed her head against the back of the couch. “Thankfully, love is not a thing demanded in politics, otherwise my court would have bested me.”
“But Gen, he mitigates the blind spot, does he not?” Helen asked.
Irene shook her head, she had learned the lesson long ago. She placed a hand over Helen’s. “You mean to ask yourself, if you trust Sophos enough to do that.” And for a moment she could see the glass of obsidian that framed Eddis, who turned her gaze away. She looked as she had when she first entered, biting away at the fragility that surfaced.
Attolia pushed the plate to the side, where their crowns sat, abandoned. She closed the space between them, moving onto her knees to tower over Eddis. She waited for Eddis to face her, to see those dark eyes, now pricked with tears.
“But, there’s little you can do about that now.” Irene murmured. “There are plenty other things at hand to discuss, wouldn’t you agree?”
Then she held her by the waist, clasping her hand as she sought the honey on Eddis’ lips. The salt of abandoned tears. Somewhere in the new quiet, she had closed her eyes, and so she felt first, Helen’s free hand cup her jaw, nails grazing her scalp. They broke for a breath of necessity.
“Yes.”