My Lady's Secret

The Rose Point Inn smelled of a noble sillage and sounded of wealthy, aloof musings spoken with breaths slurred by fine imported wines. A familiar minstrel's voice filled my ears making the room uncomfortably hot, and his wandering eyes closed vast distances even to the far table I insisted Galan and I sit at. It was after a too long and clumsy shared gaze to the minstrel, Shamal was his name as only I knew, that Galan broke our silence; that same silence we have been having so often as of late.

"That raggedy man does have a voice for his craft, wouldn't you say?" Galan said, catching a glimpse of him from overtop his glass of mulled wine.

"He does have a good voice indeed, my prince," I said.

"Ahh, you think so too? In that case, I have come up with quite the idea. We should invite him for a drink. Oh, wouldn't that be quite the laugh! To dine with a bard? Oh, the stories he could tell!" Galan said as his smile took an odd crook.

"No Galan, I don't think we –"

"Nonsense! You seem to be quite infatuated," He said through the terse grin. "Besides, is this not what you enjoy? Delighting in the company of peasants?" His grin split into a brief bought of laughter that he silenced with a swig of wine.

"Galan, this is inappropriate," I said. "He is just trying to make some money. We should leave him to his work."

"Do you think me dim, my lady?" He said in a low voice that made my bones cold. "Bring the bard here! My lady takes an interest," Galan said loud enough for the inn to hear. The bard plucked a discordant string and bowed on his dais in the far corner of the inn.

"Galan!" I said, turning my face from the crowd of onlookers, but he did not hear. At least, he did not listen.

"Do not fret, bard! Come, join us if you will."

At Galan’s beckoning, the bard walked across the floor betwixt tables of gilded silks and raised chins. "My lord Mithrandir," The bard Shamal said, bowing deeply past his waist several steps from our table. "It is a great honour, and to his lady," Shamal said without a glance toward me. I nodded.

"I thank you for the distinction, but lord Mithrandir is my father. Prince Mithrandir or prince is more proper.”

“You must forgive me my prince; my mind is weary from –”

“I must do nothing, bard,” Galan said, his voice suddenly hard as stone.

“I did not – I meant no –” The bard stuttered.

“I jest, my good man, I jest! I would have thought a bard more apt than the stuffy nobility to understand a prince’s humour.” Galan frowned below his cup of wine as he took another sip.

“It was a good jest, prince Mithrandir,” Shamal said after a hard swallow. "Do you have a song you have an interest in hearing? Or perhaps I could tell a tale. Surely you would enjoy-"

“Galan, it is time to let the man go. It is not right to keep such talent from his craft. Play the tale of Mother Allien the cape weaver,” I said, pressing a few silver coins into his hand, letting my hand linger a moment. “Be on your way now.”

“Don’t be so hasty my lady Fillia,” Galan said. “Keep the coin, bard, and take a seat.” Shamal stood looking between Galan and me only for a moment before Galan spoke again. "Well, what are you waiting for? When a prince invites you to sit, he commands you to sit, not to stand gawking over him."

"I forget myself. Your pardons my prince," The bard said, easing himself into the ladder-backed chair nearest the prince; furthest from me. There was a moment of silence as he sat. The inn was uncomfortably quiet now that Shamal wasn't playing, save the whispers shared between the wicking eyes of nearby tables. I wiped my hands on my dress, eager for Galan's farce to be done with.

“I grow weary of giving pardons,” Galan said under his voice. “An indolent man is not a man at all. That is what my father always said.” He took a deep swig of wine. In the absence of Galan’s dulled stare, my eyes met Shamal’s. His jaw was tense as a rock, his eyes hard and grey as honed steel. His face handsome, even wound tight with fear.

“Wise words, my prince,” Shamal said.

“You fool,” I mouthed to Shamal with no more than a breath of noise. He looked back as if a statue come to brief life.

“She looks particularly delightful tonight. The picture of beauty, wouldn't you say good bard?" Galan said, lowering his wine.

"I would agree, my prince," The bard responded.

"My lady, have you forgotten your manners? It is quite rude to leave two men strangers to one another."

"My prince, I would not know how to introduce the bard past his title. I would if I could, to please you, Galan, as I do everything, but I-"

"Oh, my lady, you really do think me dim?" Wine sloshed in Galan's cup, threatening to spill but stopping at the lip. "You two are sweating like fieldworkers sitting next to each other. I did not really believe it until now, but the flush on your cheeks tells it all clear. That writhing Lord Kallanar was right..." Galan's voice trailed into his mug of wine.

"Galan I-I don't know what you're speaking of. The wine is clouding your judgement my good prince. Please, let me-" Galan jerked back with a laugh, spilling the contents of the cup onto the ground, the cup following closely behind in a silencing shatter.

"Perhaps I have, perhaps I have not," Galan said, his gaze turning outward to meet the other tables. "Whether I have or have not certainly does not concern the likes of merchants and peddlers! Is there a true noble in this forsaken tavern besides myself?" The room was silent. "The bloody Rose Point..." Galan muttered. "Why did we ever decide upon-" He stopped as he looked at Shamal. "Ah, I must apologize my guest. I do believe my lady is right. Maybe I have had too much wine."

"Galan, we really should go. It is not right to appear in public like-"

"A prince may appear however he wishes, and his subjects will grovel regardless." Galan's face was suddenly tight with rage, the familiar lines on his brow taking a commonly held shape that softened quickly as if his smooth features had never known anger. "No, my lady, we will stay with our new friend. Now, as it appears, my lady Fillia has forgotten her manners. Give me your name if you will," Galan said to Shamal.

"I am - Shamal, my prin-”

“Oh, woe that it is true. I know now very well who you are bard, I just needed to hear you say it,” Galan said sharply. “My lady, I do believe we made vows to be forthcoming with one another under the holy light of the Six? When both came into adulthood? I would never wrongly blame you Fillia, but I do have a clear memory of that day, one that I hope you share. A promise that I hoped you would keep, and certainly one I expected you to keep over a filthy bard!”

“Galan I-”

“Oh, what does it matter now? The vows have already been broken.” He drew his face down. “I suppose… No, it would be going too far. I do not have the heart,” Galan said into the table. My heart was racing, but I could not leave him like this. I could not leave our vows tainted.

“Galan, my prince, I will right the wrong I have done. I will-” I shed a tear, a desperately foolish weakness to show to a viper of a man.

“So, you agree then?” A grin spread across his face. “The only thing left to do is salvage something of value from this dreadful mess, wouldn’t you say?”

“Whatever I may do Galan, whatever I can do to beg that you forgive me, that you would forgive my foolishness,” I said, pleading quietly so as to draw no more attention.

“It is good to hear that you still have some sense left in you,” Galan said as he rose his head from the table, his face as composed as if he were speaking to a crowd from his father’s throne. “You two lovers can keep this charade on for as long as you like. I care almost as little for what you decide to do as I care for you, my lady," Galan's words hung on his sharp tongue. "What I do care for is your father's wealth. Now, wouldn't it be a shame if it became common knowledge that the daughter of the wealthiest man in Telinavir was discovered to be a whore for a lowly songsmith?” My mouth hung open. I could not look at Shamal, but I felt him. I felt his heart stop as mine did.

“Galan I-I-You wouldn’t Galan, would you?” Galan’s smile only grew.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Shamal?” His name came out like poison. “To steal from a prince. Why that is high treason if there has ever been.”

Shamal dropped from his seat to his knees, flogging Galan with lofty bows. “My prince I-I can only offer my life. I have nothing else to give, only-”

“Rise you woeful beast. As the just prince I am, I must thank you, albeit begrudgingly. To right this wrong, rather, to keep this wrong hidden, I will have my way with all of the gold in Fillia’s father’s deep pockets.” Galan rose from his seat and tossed a fistful of silver coins onto the table. “Treat yourself Shamal, for you have done more good for me than you could possibly imagine.” His smile creased in a way I had never before seen. I felt sick. “Shamal, lady Fillia, a good night to you both.” Galan bowed deeply, raised his chin, and walked out of the Rose Point Inn, leaving Shamal and myself silent, unable to look at each other the way we had so many nights before.