Fate's oddity volume 2, page 21
The palace guard at East Arch waved them through on sight. Stone cool, light clean, voices trimmed down by the echoes—home to some of them, a necessary workplace to others.
“Beatrice was waiting where the covered walkway opened onto the gardens. As soon as she caught sight of Krimson, she came over, appraising him with the practiced eye of someone used to patching up troublemakers.
“Oh, just look at you,” she said, clucking her tongue with the authority of a mother who’d seen it all. Without waiting, she reached up and brushed a smear of dirt from his jaw, then flicked a bit of leaf from his hair. “You and your friends always manage to find the thick of things, don’t you?”
Krimson managed a crooked smile. “All in a day’s work. I’m fine, I promise. Thanks though, Queen Beatrice.”
She gave him a mock-stern look, hands lingering on his shoulders. “I told you, you can just call me Beatrice. Or—” her eyes sparkled with mischief, “maybe mom?”
Krimson shook his head, laughing. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
Her grin softened. “Fair enough. Will you walk with me?”
Krimson glanced to his partners. Murasaki’s tail gave a lazy sweep. “You go ahead, Alpha. I’ll keep an eye on these two—make sure they don’t kill each other before you get back.”
Celestia and Vivienne both hmpfed in unison, turning away with matching smirks tugging at the corners of their mouths.
Vivienne was the first to break the tension, smoothing her dress with deliberate nonchalance. “Take care of my auntie, dear,” she called to Krimson, voice airy and playful.
Krimson gave her a crooked grin. “Yeah, will do.” He started after Beatrice, who was already turning toward the long windowed hall.
As they walked, Beatrice glanced back at the women. Her eyes lingered on Celestia and Vivienne, noting the competitive glances and the reluctant amusement. She spoke low, so only Krimson could hear. “You know, I think those two are actually very fond of one another, they see each other as equals. They may act like rivals, but it’s a kind of respect. I can’t say I ever expected to see it, but it suits them. Maybe one day they’ll even admit it.”
Krimson chuckled softly. “Might take a while, but stranger things have happened.”
Beatrice’s expression softened. “Vivienne has always kept people at arm’s length, even family. But I see the way she looks at Celestia—like someone worth measuring herself against. That’s how strong bonds start, even if neither of them would admit it out loud.”
She let the thought settle, then turned the conversation. “But this isn’t about them. I wanted to talk to you—about family.”
Krimson’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s a relief. I think I left my patience for politics back in the bushes.”
After a few minutes they were settled in for their conversation, Krimson was seated across from Beatrice in a sunlit alcove above the south lawn. The table was simple—tea, sandwiches, a bowl of citrus—no audience, no footmen hovering.
Beatrice poured with unhurried ease. “I asked to meet with you like this because I thought we should talk,” she said. “About us.”
Krimson set his gloves beside the cup, mouth quirking. “That sounds dangerous. If you weren't my step mom I'd assume you were telling me you want to break up.”
“Yes, quite right, it does sound that way,” she said. “Now are you ready to be serious?”
Krimson chuckled embarrassed, “Sorry, go ahead.”
“We have two families living side by side in this palace, but only one name on the front. That uncertainty is just an invitation for people to exploit us. I’d like to see that door closed.”
“How?” he asked.
“By ending the rumor economy,” Beatrice said, voice steady. “Your mother and my husband love each other. You and your sisters are his children. We make that official—publicly. Marriage. No one will ever use your birth as leverage again.”
Krimson studied her for a long moment. “That’s… surprisingly bold. And you realize my mother doesn’t exactly take kindly to being boxed in.”
“I’m not boxing her in,” Beatrice replied. “I’m opening a door. No courtiers, no audience—just the three of us. He asks. I witness. She chooses. If she says no, we go back to protecting each other the messier way.”
Krimson’s mouth quirked, part teasing, part genuinely impressed. “It’s interesting you’re willing to share your husband like that. Most queens I know—well, most wouldn’t even say it out loud.”
Beatrice’s lips curved, almost rueful, almost amused. “Well, watching you and those girls—your little harmony—has made me think. Maybe family doesn’t have to look like a single straight line. You all seem to make it work, against all odds. If I can take even a little of that courage for our family, it’s worth trying.”
“Why now?”
Beatrice’s gaze softened, worry flickering beneath her usual composure. “I love my father, but I can’t trust that he’ll do the right thing—not when he feels cornered. And Albrecht… with everything that’s happening, I’m afraid he’ll make choices he can’t undo if we just let things play out. I don’t want us to wait around and hope for the best while everything we care about is at risk.”
Krimson nodded once. “Family first. Marquis later.”
“Exactly.” Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. “It goes better if you’re not surprised.”
He huffed a laugh. “Noted. When?”
“Today,” she said. “I’ll have Sylva set a small room off the royal corridor. Sunlight. A door that doesn’t echo. I’ll ask Kris to walk. If she refuses, I won’t trick her past the threshold.”
If she says yes,” Krimson said, rising, “just let me know how I can help. If there’s anything you need—from me or my sisters—just say the word.”
Beatrice’s mouth tipped, equal parts relief and resolve. “Thank you, Krimson. That means more than you know.”
She signaled to a passing page without looking. “A quiet room near the royal wing, please. And coffee to the east wing in ten minutes.”
“Your Majesty.” The page bowed and vanished.
Beatrice glanced at the streak of sap and mud on Krimson’s sleeve, then at the stubborn burrs clinging to his collar. “You have time to change. And to breathe, if you want it.”
Krimson just grinned, brushing a thumb across the worst of the grime but making no move to leave. For a moment, he looked at Beatrice—seeing not just the queen, but someone who fussed over his mess like it was her job. Huh, he thought.
“So this is what it’s like to have two moms.” He murmured quietly to himself.
He lingered at the archway, stubbornly rumpled. “Thanks for treating her like…her.”
Beatrice’s face softened. “Loving Kris means choosing between patience and courage every hour,” she said. “Today needs courage.” She hesitated, then added, “When I first met her, I didn’t accept her because it was the right thing for the palace, or for Alaric, or even for you. I accepted her because, somehow, it just felt right for me.”
Krimson gave a lopsided smile, a little raw around the edges. “That’s the only way she’d want it.”
Beatrice’s eyes shone with a mix of resolve and something warmer. “We’ll face it together. All of it.”
He nodded and slipped out into the corridor’s soft light.
“Krimson,” she called.
He looked back.
“When this is over—whatever she chooses—we’re still us,” Beatrice said. “That’s not a negotiation.”
He smiled, small and real. “Good. I’m bad at those.”
Beatrice watched the garden for one measured breath, then turned to set the room.
***
The sun was gentle in the east gallery, making the marble warm underfoot. Kris had almost begun to enjoy these afternoons with Beatrice—tea, idle talk, and a quiet kind of kinship she’d never had outside her own family. When Beatrice suggested they move to a side room—“It’s quieter here. You’ll like the view”—Kris went along, expecting nothing but a pot of oolong and perhaps a slice of honey cake.
The room Beatrice chose was small and bright, with two tall windows open to the late breeze. A round table stood set for two, a silver teapot steaming quietly beside a plate of candied peels. Kris barely noticed the other door at first.
She didn’t miss the way Beatrice checked the hall, though, or how she locked the door behind them.
Before Kris could ask, the inner door opened. Alaric stepped in, alone, and the air changed. Kris went absolutely still, every instinct prickling—cat-cornered, no easy exit.
Beatrice didn’t bother with an explanation. She just set herself between Kris and the door, hands folded, calm but immovable.
“Beatrice,” Kris said, voice dry, “are you planning to keep me here until I talk?”
Beatrice offered a wry, apologetic smile. “Not forever. Just until you listen. Please. Sit, both of you. I’m not leaving, and neither are you.”
Kris hovered, uncertain, glancing from Alaric to Beatrice, reading the truth in both faces. “I suppose tea was a lie, then.”
“The tea is real,” Beatrice said quietly, “but so is the problem. We’re out of time to keep running from it.”
Alaric stepped forward, his gaze steady but nervous, and nodded to Beatrice. “Thank you for arranging this.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Beatrice replied, closing the door with a gentle but final click. “This is just the start.”
She crossed to the table and set down a small sandglass between the cups, her gesture deliberate. “Here’s how we’ll do this: Five minutes each, uninterrupted, then you can answer. If anyone starts fencing words just to win, I end it, and we try again tomorrow.”
Kris eyed the hourglass and huffed, resigned but not quite defeated. “Fine. Let’s have it out.”
The door stayed shut behind them, and the air in the little room bristled with the tension of a beginning no one could run from.
Kris had barely set down her cup when she saw him—no warning, no formality, just Alaric waiting by the locked door. She recognized the set of his jaw: cornered resolve, the look of a man about to push through a wall or bleed against it.
She crossed her arms. “So this is an ambush,” she said, aiming for cold but landing on wary.
Alaric’s mouth tightened in a half-smile. “Call it an intervention. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.” He stepped closer, just enough that she could smell the cologne he’d never stopped wearing.
Kris rolled her eyes. “You could at least let me finish my tea before springing confessions. Or is this how royalty does apologies now?”
He ignored the barb. “You’ve spent twenty years running from everyone who ever tried to give you anything. I’m tired of letting you run from me.”
She bristled, looking for a way out that didn’t involve violence or retreat. “That’s not your choice to make. I don’t need—”
He interrupted. “You don’t need anyone, I know. But you stayed. Even after everything. You stayed when you could’ve vanished.” He took a breath. “I know you hate that about yourself. I love it.”
Her voice dropped. “I stayed for my children. For safety. Not for you.”
He nodded, the barest acceptance. “You can tell yourself that as many times as you want. I’ll believe you when you start acting like it.”
She went still, jaw tight. “You think you know everything, don’t you? I could have left, Alaric. I should have.”
He closed the distance, not touching her. “But you didn’t. I killed my father for you—because I couldn’t watch him destroy what was left of you. I’ve made selfish, desperate choices. I’ll own that. I chose you, even when you wouldn’t choose me.”
Kris scoffed, but her hands trembled on the edge of the table. “You didn’t choose me, you claimed me. You made sure I couldn’t run, and then called it love.”
He didn’t flinch. “I won’t apologize for loving you. I never asked you to change, Kris. I just wanted you to stop pretending you’re alone.”
She shook her head, not quite able to meet his gaze. “Love is easy for you. You love like it’s breathing. I love like it’s poison.”
He smiled, just a little. “Then I’ll take the risk.”
A long silence stretched, the kind that holds everything unsaid. Kris finally looked up, letting him see the exhaustion, the fury, the longing that never quite died.
“I can’t promise you anything,” she said, voice rough. “I don’t know how to be… what you want.”
He let out a breath, slow and patient. “I want you as you are. Even if it means I have to keep proving it. Even if you never say it back.”
She looked away. “You’re an idiot.”
He nodded. “For you? Every day.”
That, finally, got a breath of laughter from her—sharp, incredulous, but real.
Beatrice, waiting by the door, let herself smile as the sand in the glass ran out.
Kris was quiet a long time. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t to Alaric, but toward the thin wash of light on the table. “If I agree to this… it changes more than just our household,” she said. “You know what it means for the court. For the city. People in this country like to pretend they’re all proper and simple, but what you’re asking—what Beatrice is offering—means every noble who’s ever wanted more will see a door open. Even commoners will know it’s possible.”
She hesitated, her voice rough. “It will make life easier for our children. For you. Maybe even for me. But it will make things harder for a lot of others who think the world only turns one way. If I say yes, I’m not just becoming your wife. I’m becoming the example everyone points to when they want permission—or someone to blame.”
Alaric didn’t interrupt. Kris went on, a trace more open than before, “I never wanted to be anyone’s example. I only ever wanted to survive. And I’m still not sure if this is what I want… or what’s safest for us now.”
She finally met his eyes. “But I am sure about one thing. I don’t want my children growing up as shadows, or you and Beatrice living as liars. If I choose this, I choose it for us. For what it might give—not just what it takes.”
A silence held. Kris studied Alaric, hunting for varnish and not finding any.
“Better.”
Beatrice let a breath go. “Good. From air to ground.” She slid a single sheet—thicker stock, royal seal already pressed—across the table. “This isn’t just protection; it’s standing. It names you Queen of Gaia—equal in title to me.”
She tapped the clauses as she spoke. “Style and address: Her Majesty Kris of Nox, Queen of Gaia. Apartments and security as of right, not favor. A formal seat on the Privy Council. Co-sign authority on orders touching the household and external threats. Independent patronage and the right to receive audiences. Your own seal.”
Her finger paused at the final paragraph. “It also affirms what matters most: the children’s full legitimacy and automatic standing in any succession dispute—without naming an heir—and it states plainly that the Queens act in concert on all family matters.” She met Kris’s eyes. “Not just safeguarded. Empowered.”
Kris almost smiled. “Of course you did.”
Alaric skimmed the page and set it down. “I can sign this.”
Kris lifted a brow. “You’ll get pushback.”
“I will get pushback for breathing,” he said. “This at least earns something.”
Kris tapped the page, then looked up. “This handles the house. It doesn’t handle the street. Stoll is already laying boards. If he pulls us into a public cage match while we’re still teaching ourselves trust, he wins by default.”
“Then we split the work,” Beatrice said. “Alaric steadies the city. Kris steadies the people around us who prefer knives to speeches. And we don’t leave gaps. That means—” she glanced between them “—no solo heroics. Not from you, and not from you.”
Kris’s mouth tipped. “You realize who you’re talking to.”
“Yes,” Beatrice said dryly. “Which is why I said it.”
Alaric rested his hands on the chair back, as if to keep them from reaching for too much. “I want to say something that won’t fit inside five minutes.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Is it something that detonates?”
“It might,” he admitted.
Kris’s attention sharpened. “Then do not dress it up,” she said. “If there is a bomb under this table, put it down gently and tell me which wire is which.”
Beatrice rotated the glass and stepped back, deliberately ceding the space between them. “I’ll be in the corridor,” she said. “You have ten minutes and a bell.” She set a small handbell on the table, met Kris’s eyes, then Alaric’s, and left, locking the outer door behind her and taking up position just outside like a queen who had decided to be a doorstop.
Inside, the room got quieter and heavier at once.
Alaric didn’t sit. “There’s a truth I have carried because I thought it protected you,” he said. “It did the opposite. It took your choice. I am going to put it on the table now.”
Kris’s jaw set, but she nodded. “Then put it there.”
He drew a small leather folio from his coat and laid it beside the sandglass. He didn’t open it yet. “Before I show you this, hear one thing first: I did it because I was afraid of losing you in a way law would help me prevent. It was cowardice dressed as care.”
Kris’s hands went still on the chair back. “Open it.”
He did.
The room did not explode; it bent. Kris stared at the paper, and the silence that followed was not empty—it was crowded with over twenty years.
“Bea,” Alaric said, voice steady and too quiet to carry through oak, “we will need another ten minutes.”
Kris didn’t look up. “No,” she said. “We will need a lifetime. But you can have ten.”
She drew the folio toward her with two fingers like it might bite, and the sand hissed as it fell.
***
