The Lady and the Commander Fic
Title: My Kingdom for a Kiss Upon Her Shoulder
Author: Aussie
Rated: T
Word Count: 3460
A fic I started writing for Nixmom’s birthday but never finished in time. :( It’s stand alone, an epilogue one could say, set in the Lady and the Commander universe. This is set in the future, after the series (which I haven’t yet written) is complete. Spoilers! (I must be watching too much Doctor Who!)
“Ma’am, I believe I should advise you to be more discreet with that man.”
Laura spared a glance for the man who hovered by her elbow. “Your words are not only presumptuous, they could be misconstrued as traitorous, Constable," she scolded, but then she relented a little, considering his family connections. "The decorative sash and rope of a full dress uniform can look quite effeminate on some subjects, but Commander Adama executes the effect nobly, do you not think?”
The man by her side gave a mirthless grunt. “I think he appears uncomfortable. See the way he tugs at his collar? As if visions of his neck in a noose are flowing through his mind."
"You are being merely fanciful, and contrary, I would say," she said, her soft tone a warning that, much to her chagrin, her companion decided to ignore.
In fact, he went on blithely: "I would say his entire countenance bears a strong resemblance of those who arrive before the queen knowing they will be told they shall be required to serve time in the Tower rather than those who have been invited to attend a ceremony where they shall receive reward for services to the crown.”
She tilted her chin determinedly. “He shall need to become accustomed to the ridiculous pomp and pageantry of it all. Whilst the new queen is on the throne, he will be a permanent member of the royal court.”
“Do you not think providence is paramount? How long will the good name of the queen protect you from the scandal of his marital status? You believe the queen’s charms will continue to tempt him more than those of the sea?"
Her mouth became a thin line. He had unknowingly posed the very questions she had dared not ask herself since her return from exile.
She took a deep breath and turned to face the man who always spoke freely in her presence, a flair which annoyed and delighted her equally. “You have lost many, so I shall forgive both your impertinence and cynicism. However, you should do your best to recall that you are not alone in your grief.”
“My grief--”
“Grief cannot be measured upon a scale, Constable. It is there, in your blood, in my blood, and most decidedly in his.” She tilted her head towards where Commander Adama was now accepting a goblet of red wine from one of the servants. “That wine would pump less furiously through a teetotaller monk’s than the grief pumps through his, of this I am certain. I would advise you to follow his lead, and stop letting the evilness of your misery overcome you and those who love you.”
She gathered her skirts, but offered one parting shot: “Nor can faith be measured. Despite, and due to, all that I have seen in the last few desperate years, it remains particularly strong in relation to Commander Adama,” she vowed. “Hold your tongue when it wishes to speak harshly about him, or my faith in you may be tested.”
The subject of Laura’s defensive tirade watched as she marched determinedly in his direction. He wondered if she realised how the crowd automatically eased to one side to allow her a free passage. He noticed she ignored any who dared to attempt conversation or to attract her attention during her journey to his side.
He lowered his head in a polite bow when she stopped before him. The colour of her cheeks matched the crimson dress she wore. The green of her eyes flashed brightly in the reflection of the lanterns lit behind her. Her breathing was laboured and heavy.
“You appear most vexed,” he remarked. “Passionately so,” he added huskily, his eyes settling on where her bosoms almost spilled out the top of her bodice, their movement matching the rhythm of her breaths. “I hope you are well, madam.”
“Do you plan to return to sea, Commander?” she demanded to know without preamble.
He raised his eyebrows, and then looked over her shoulder to the young man she had been conversing with a moment ago. “You have allowed the newly appointed Caprican Constable to raise your ire, ma’am?”
“He seems to have a gift for it,” she sniped. “Blood always will tell,” she added, making the statement an accusation which encompassed both he and the constable.
He merely chuckled at her outrage, but she would not be swayed. “You have not yet answered my query. What shall you do now, Commander? The war is finally won and some semblance is restored to Caprica. Will you go to sea again? There are many lands to be explored, countries just waiting to be discovered and become part of the might of the Colonies."
Slowly, he took a sip of his wine. "Galactica lies at the bottom of the ocean."
"There are other ships, Commander."
He held her gaze steadily. "No, there are not.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “And you will not return to your wife.”
He noted this came out as more of a statement than a question. In her heart she must know the idea was preposterous. Still, he decided to reply, “No, she is doing quite well and--"
She interrupted him with a loud grunt. “I am sure she is. The queen is now paying her a handsome ransom indeed,” she sneered.
"It was not necessary--"
"Of course it was necessary!” she cried, gaining the attention of those closest to them. She flashed the unwanted eavesdroppers a bland smile, but lowered her tone accordingly: “How else should her silence be claimed? You think you could appeal to her sense of right or wrong? Her greed knows no bounds. Even threats of a spike in traitors' corner went unheeded."
"We did escape those spikes ourselves with her help," he reminded her gently.
"She carried out that daring raid not for loyalty for her country nor due to the love for her husband, do not forget."
He passed a hand across his face. “No.”
“The quorum should revisit the divorce laws...”
“Laura…”
“Perhaps we should talk of something more pleasant,” she suggested, turning away, ostentatiously making a show of studying the shining gold throne on display in the centre of the room.
He ignored the ornate piece of furniture and studied her instead. Her hair was pinned up in an extravagantly complicated style. Maybe her mood would be improved if he released it back to its usual rebellious tangle of curls, and then placed his lips--
"What do you think of the distant cousin taking over the throne, Commander?" she asked, forcing his attention away from making love to her neck. He unfortunately found her question a perplexing one indeed.
The queen in question had moved to the throne. She did not take a seat, but waltzed clumsily in front of the chair as if she was herself preoccupied and bemused about the whole situation. He took an involuntary step closer, his emotions mixed.
"After the last two kings, I think a queen will make a welcome change," he finally settled on saying.
"You should be more careful, Commander,” she hissed, her anger still simmering near the surface. “I have heard the queen was quite fond of King Richard. She might accuse you of treason."
"I was accused of treason by her predecessor, and yet here I am, my head intact."
"Ah, yes, you certainly have a gift for surviving, Commander." She turned then and reached up to cup his cheek. “Thank the Gods.”
He tilted his head, until his lips were dangerously close to the palm of her hand. At that moment their need to communicate physically, without the undercurrent of sharp words, overshadowed this new proprietary they must adopt.
“I’ve missed you,” she raggedly confessed before she let her hand drop away to her side.
He smiled, warmed despite the distance she sought to put between them. “And I you, ma’am. I almost long to return to the carefree days spent in our small shelter in the New Caprican Forest.”
She looked over her shoulder at the crowded room. “The extent of its carefree nature was much stifled, however, once we had knowledge of our kinsmen’s suffering,” she murmured.
“Yes. We all have our responsibilities.”
“Yes.”
Laura exhaled audibly. Although she had been provoked, her behaviour with her Commander to this point had been quite churlish. They argued so infrequently nowadays. He would regard her confession as an apology, she knew, but their mood still needed to be lightened. This was supposedly a celebration.
She hooked her arm through his and began to lead him around the room. "So... You have been invited to Court, obviously. You have been hailed a hero…” She tilted her head, bumping it on his shoulder. “The queen..."
"Considering returning to the sea is not possible, do you think she might find me some suitable position?"
She waved her hand towards one corner of the room where several performers entertained with their skills. A man juggling burning torches high into the air; another performing acrobatic flips; a minstrel; a dancer. "I am sure there are quite a few vacancies..."
"Court jester? I hear she does have quite the sense of humour."
"Really? Most have told me they find her humourless. Even I do note her sombre attitude on many an occasion."
He decided to tease. "I might have a gift--"
"Many in my experience, Commander,” she interrupted. “A lot to do with those Tauron tutors,” she whispered, squeezing his arm
"You misunderstand my meaning,” he said, his face serious. “I thought I may have a gift for amusing the queen should I try."
"Perhaps. We shall have to see.”
"Is that a flash of green I see in your eyes?"
Her mouth twisted, her bad temper almost rearing its head once more. "Do not be foolish. You are fortunate there are no eunuchs in the court. The new queen has called a halt to the barbaric practice.”
"A blessing.”
"You should be warned, Commander. I could still use my influence to arrange for the withdrawal of this decree.”
He only chuckled, and his fingers somehow danced along the only piece of bare skin on her arm.
"And you could also use your considerable influence to suggest a first eunuch candidate? Is that the implication I should fear?"
"Did you just break into a sweat at the thought?" she challenged, irritated that it was she who was feeling quite flushed, and all from only his light touch on her arm.
Without warning, he leaned closer, and his tone lowered to an impossibly huskier level. "Should I be anxious considering the way you delight in those words? Shall I try to convince you later of why this is not a wise idea?”
She flushed further at his implication. She had not yet invited him to her bed chamber since their return, and now it seemed he was taking it upon himself to take the initiative and invite himself. If only she did not tremble with excitement at the prospect, she would be able to tell him he was being presumptuous. "I look forward to it,” she instead admitted quietly.
She should change the subject or she could find herself yielding to temptation and taking a taste of his lips right here in the middle of the royal court. “So…” What was the thread of their conversation before thoughts of being alone with him in her bedchamber had invaded her mind? “Not a jester... Nor a eunuch... Your son has taken on the role of Constable. Prime minister?"
"Too much diplomacy involved."
She snorted. "Head groom?"
"The queen likes to ride?" he wondered nonchalantly.
"She does," she answered with confidence. Then, before she could add more to this frivolous subject, she was once again distracted. He had altered his hold on her, and his hand was now resting upon her hip. The heat of his touch scorched through the many layers of her skirts.
“There is no King Consort yet. I wonder if she would be open--”
“You forget yourself, Commander,” she snapped and stepped back, meaning his hands fell away. She ignored the instantly bereft feeling that settled upon her with the loss of contact.
“You are in quite a temper this evening, madam,” he dared tell her.
She spun around the room, so full of important people, posturing and preening or giving long winded and pompous orations, but vital for the Colonies nevertheless.
She sobered, the easy banter she had with the Commander evaporating. “I was just being selfish. Imagining another life without duty,” she admitted quietly.
He stared at his boots, shining for the formal occasion. “You can step down--”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not yet.” She approached him again, and placed her palm on his chest. “Though I am serious about a new position for you, Commander. I cannot find the energy needed to be who I must be without you by my side. Nor do I want to. My temper is swirling because I have been imagining my life without you too oft of late.”
“Your life will never be without me, Laura. Or should I say, my life could not be without you.”
She closed her eyes to keep herself from swooning into his arms. “I know,” she rasped. Of course she knew. Her mood of late was inexcusable. She glanced over at the throne again, recognising it had caused her this foolish distress. “The queen…”
Adama was glad he held a wine goblet, for he gripped it tightly to prevent himself from taking Laura in his arms. She had been more affected by the happenings of the past few months than she wished to admit.
“I am afraid the queen and the throne are the furthest thoughts in my mind when you are near,” he murmured truthfully. An unfortunate reality, given the situation.
"Oh!" She cried with a merry laugh at last, and slapped him gently on the chest where her palm had rested only moments ago, evoking all types of intimacies.
Hearteningly, she continued to jest: "Another reason for her to sharpen the axe, should she hear such a claim.”
He grinned widely at the easing of her mood into joy and laughter at last. His heart hammered with love and devotion as she returned his smile without shame.
His attention was only diverted when a group of soldiers entered the court. They formed two lines through the centre of the gallery. Half of them held gold painted axes, the other half shiny trumpets. Everyone watched as the musicians in the ranks held their instruments high into the air, Colonial flags dropped from the base of each trumpet, and soon the rifts of the Colonial Anthem filled the chamber.
Laura looked around the court, smiling and nodding to the queen's most trusted. "Saved by the trumpets, my love," she whispered from the corner of her mouth.
Like everyone else, he then watched as the queen made her way between the line of soldiers and took her place on the throne.
He then listened whilst she gave a short speech, full of reverence for her new position and hope for a stint of peace.
Next, the Prime Minister stood and moved to stand beside the throne. He unfurled a paper scroll and started the official part of the ceremony.
When his name was called, he stepped forward to the base of the throne, where he knelt before the queen as the Prime Minister read a list of deeds credited to him to the Court.
Once the Prime Minister completed his spiel, he felt a heavy weight rest upon his left shoulder. He kept his head bowed and still.
“I dub thee…”
The heavy weight lifted and rested upon his right shoulder.
“Sir William Adama.”
Much to his surprise, the peoples of the Court began to clap. He would wonder later if they were doing so merely to humour the Queen.
"Arise my brave knight of the realm."
"I shall try to as nobly as I can, but my knees are rather aged and prone to seizing,” he mumbled under his breath. “Prepare yourself, and perhaps one of your guards; I might fall."
It seemed he and the queen shared the same sense of humour. For, while the Constable and Prime Minister looked on disapprovingly, she spluttered with a fit of mirth and offered her hand to support him as he stood.
The night’s events had been the new queen’s first public duty since ascending to the throne.
Much food, drink and merriment had been offered to all in attendance before and after the ceremony of presenting a new knight to the realm. She’d been expected to discuss a range of controversial subjects to those who sought her audience throughout the evening, all the while ensuring she never revealed her opinions fully whilst doing so.
Finally, in the early hours of the morning, she had returned to her private chambers where her ladies in waiting had obligingly assisted her to bathe. Afterwards, they had unobtrusively withdrawn so she could at last take to her bedchamber.
Now her only wish was to sleep for several hours before the next day was taken up with more demands of her people. She loved them, without a doubt, but…
She would at least like to share their burden with someone, she mused, staring up at the deep maroon velvet which looped between the bed posts.
“Someone to be my equal in this new adventure,” she said aloud.
“Someone to advise and counsel you, my queen?”
She started at the deep voice coming from the end of her bedchamber. She grabbed a cover and drew it quickly around her scantily dressed form.
“How did you get in here?” she hissed, outraged but intrigued as well.
The figure moved closer.
“My guards--”
“Have strict orders to follow any order Sir William Adama utters.”
The satin bedding was gently tugged until it slipped from her grasp and rippled down to the floor beside the base of her bedchamber. Next, one finger looped beneath her night attire.
“Now… About this adventure…”
“I think,” she rasped, “from my recollection of the offer involved some years ago, there was a claim of logic and strategy on your part…”
“And passion on yours,” her intruder murmured, his memory of their first meeting obviously remaining as clear as hers.
“As well as being aware of the stakes involved,” she added.
“Oh, I think by now, my fair queen, you must have some idea of the stakes involved should we join.”
It seemed, however, the stresses of the day were still affecting her temper: “I should be irritated that you should make witticisms about something so serious. Now that I’ve become the head of the monarchy, the stakes involved--”
He silenced her tirade quite effectively -- by kissing her. It was a slow hard kiss, meant to subdue her. And, to her irritation, it did.
She melted back, letting the mattress of feathers mould around her, all thoughts of sleep overtaken by much more illicit imaginings. Her lover took the opportunity to quickly follow her, laying in the cradle her thighs soon made for his bulk.
His lips coaxed hers wider, his tongue wickedly promised more.
“If only I did not hold your opinions in such high esteem,” she murmured when they finally parted, the need to breathe overwhelming their amour for the briefest moment.
“This is not a worthy sentiment? Esteem for my opinions?” he laughingly asked as his lips moved to lower places upon her body, causing her to squirm with pleasure.
“It prevents me from offering you a more basic position within my royal house, Sir William. If you were simply a pretty man available to pander to my sensual whims, there would be much less hardship involved in defining your role. As it is, your intelligence and logic, and loyalty and friendship, only adds to your appeal and--”
“Does your mind never cease to wind, my love?” His words were murmured into the skin of her thighs.
She reached down and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. “Sometimes something happens which makes me forget all, my most beloved knight,” she said in a teasing manner. “The first time you took me to a new world with your lips, for example…”
“I live to serve my queen,” he murmured before he bowed his head and nipped her skin playfully. She squeaked in protest until he soothed the spot with his tongue. He lifted his head and held her gaze. “And now we are here, in another new world.”
“We shall come up with some plan,” she said, an air of confidence returning to her demeanour. “You make me believe," she added sincerely with tears gathering.
He moved up her body and kissed the wetness from her eyes away. “About time.”
~ The End ~
Author: Aussie
Rated: T
Word Count: 3460
A fic I started writing for Nixmom’s birthday but never finished in time. :( It’s stand alone, an epilogue one could say, set in the Lady and the Commander universe. This is set in the future, after the series (which I haven’t yet written) is complete. Spoilers! (I must be watching too much Doctor Who!)
“Ma’am, I believe I should advise you to be more discreet with that man.”
Laura spared a glance for the man who hovered by her elbow. “Your words are not only presumptuous, they could be misconstrued as traitorous, Constable," she scolded, but then she relented a little, considering his family connections. "The decorative sash and rope of a full dress uniform can look quite effeminate on some subjects, but Commander Adama executes the effect nobly, do you not think?”
The man by her side gave a mirthless grunt. “I think he appears uncomfortable. See the way he tugs at his collar? As if visions of his neck in a noose are flowing through his mind."
"You are being merely fanciful, and contrary, I would say," she said, her soft tone a warning that, much to her chagrin, her companion decided to ignore.
In fact, he went on blithely: "I would say his entire countenance bears a strong resemblance of those who arrive before the queen knowing they will be told they shall be required to serve time in the Tower rather than those who have been invited to attend a ceremony where they shall receive reward for services to the crown.”
She tilted her chin determinedly. “He shall need to become accustomed to the ridiculous pomp and pageantry of it all. Whilst the new queen is on the throne, he will be a permanent member of the royal court.”
“Do you not think providence is paramount? How long will the good name of the queen protect you from the scandal of his marital status? You believe the queen’s charms will continue to tempt him more than those of the sea?"
Her mouth became a thin line. He had unknowingly posed the very questions she had dared not ask herself since her return from exile.
She took a deep breath and turned to face the man who always spoke freely in her presence, a flair which annoyed and delighted her equally. “You have lost many, so I shall forgive both your impertinence and cynicism. However, you should do your best to recall that you are not alone in your grief.”
“My grief--”
“Grief cannot be measured upon a scale, Constable. It is there, in your blood, in my blood, and most decidedly in his.” She tilted her head towards where Commander Adama was now accepting a goblet of red wine from one of the servants. “That wine would pump less furiously through a teetotaller monk’s than the grief pumps through his, of this I am certain. I would advise you to follow his lead, and stop letting the evilness of your misery overcome you and those who love you.”
She gathered her skirts, but offered one parting shot: “Nor can faith be measured. Despite, and due to, all that I have seen in the last few desperate years, it remains particularly strong in relation to Commander Adama,” she vowed. “Hold your tongue when it wishes to speak harshly about him, or my faith in you may be tested.”
The subject of Laura’s defensive tirade watched as she marched determinedly in his direction. He wondered if she realised how the crowd automatically eased to one side to allow her a free passage. He noticed she ignored any who dared to attempt conversation or to attract her attention during her journey to his side.
He lowered his head in a polite bow when she stopped before him. The colour of her cheeks matched the crimson dress she wore. The green of her eyes flashed brightly in the reflection of the lanterns lit behind her. Her breathing was laboured and heavy.
“You appear most vexed,” he remarked. “Passionately so,” he added huskily, his eyes settling on where her bosoms almost spilled out the top of her bodice, their movement matching the rhythm of her breaths. “I hope you are well, madam.”
“Do you plan to return to sea, Commander?” she demanded to know without preamble.
He raised his eyebrows, and then looked over her shoulder to the young man she had been conversing with a moment ago. “You have allowed the newly appointed Caprican Constable to raise your ire, ma’am?”
“He seems to have a gift for it,” she sniped. “Blood always will tell,” she added, making the statement an accusation which encompassed both he and the constable.
He merely chuckled at her outrage, but she would not be swayed. “You have not yet answered my query. What shall you do now, Commander? The war is finally won and some semblance is restored to Caprica. Will you go to sea again? There are many lands to be explored, countries just waiting to be discovered and become part of the might of the Colonies."
Slowly, he took a sip of his wine. "Galactica lies at the bottom of the ocean."
"There are other ships, Commander."
He held her gaze steadily. "No, there are not.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. “And you will not return to your wife.”
He noted this came out as more of a statement than a question. In her heart she must know the idea was preposterous. Still, he decided to reply, “No, she is doing quite well and--"
She interrupted him with a loud grunt. “I am sure she is. The queen is now paying her a handsome ransom indeed,” she sneered.
"It was not necessary--"
"Of course it was necessary!” she cried, gaining the attention of those closest to them. She flashed the unwanted eavesdroppers a bland smile, but lowered her tone accordingly: “How else should her silence be claimed? You think you could appeal to her sense of right or wrong? Her greed knows no bounds. Even threats of a spike in traitors' corner went unheeded."
"We did escape those spikes ourselves with her help," he reminded her gently.
"She carried out that daring raid not for loyalty for her country nor due to the love for her husband, do not forget."
He passed a hand across his face. “No.”
“The quorum should revisit the divorce laws...”
“Laura…”
“Perhaps we should talk of something more pleasant,” she suggested, turning away, ostentatiously making a show of studying the shining gold throne on display in the centre of the room.
He ignored the ornate piece of furniture and studied her instead. Her hair was pinned up in an extravagantly complicated style. Maybe her mood would be improved if he released it back to its usual rebellious tangle of curls, and then placed his lips--
"What do you think of the distant cousin taking over the throne, Commander?" she asked, forcing his attention away from making love to her neck. He unfortunately found her question a perplexing one indeed.
The queen in question had moved to the throne. She did not take a seat, but waltzed clumsily in front of the chair as if she was herself preoccupied and bemused about the whole situation. He took an involuntary step closer, his emotions mixed.
"After the last two kings, I think a queen will make a welcome change," he finally settled on saying.
"You should be more careful, Commander,” she hissed, her anger still simmering near the surface. “I have heard the queen was quite fond of King Richard. She might accuse you of treason."
"I was accused of treason by her predecessor, and yet here I am, my head intact."
"Ah, yes, you certainly have a gift for surviving, Commander." She turned then and reached up to cup his cheek. “Thank the Gods.”
He tilted his head, until his lips were dangerously close to the palm of her hand. At that moment their need to communicate physically, without the undercurrent of sharp words, overshadowed this new proprietary they must adopt.
“I’ve missed you,” she raggedly confessed before she let her hand drop away to her side.
He smiled, warmed despite the distance she sought to put between them. “And I you, ma’am. I almost long to return to the carefree days spent in our small shelter in the New Caprican Forest.”
She looked over her shoulder at the crowded room. “The extent of its carefree nature was much stifled, however, once we had knowledge of our kinsmen’s suffering,” she murmured.
“Yes. We all have our responsibilities.”
“Yes.”
Laura exhaled audibly. Although she had been provoked, her behaviour with her Commander to this point had been quite churlish. They argued so infrequently nowadays. He would regard her confession as an apology, she knew, but their mood still needed to be lightened. This was supposedly a celebration.
She hooked her arm through his and began to lead him around the room. "So... You have been invited to Court, obviously. You have been hailed a hero…” She tilted her head, bumping it on his shoulder. “The queen..."
"Considering returning to the sea is not possible, do you think she might find me some suitable position?"
She waved her hand towards one corner of the room where several performers entertained with their skills. A man juggling burning torches high into the air; another performing acrobatic flips; a minstrel; a dancer. "I am sure there are quite a few vacancies..."
"Court jester? I hear she does have quite the sense of humour."
"Really? Most have told me they find her humourless. Even I do note her sombre attitude on many an occasion."
He decided to tease. "I might have a gift--"
"Many in my experience, Commander,” she interrupted. “A lot to do with those Tauron tutors,” she whispered, squeezing his arm
"You misunderstand my meaning,” he said, his face serious. “I thought I may have a gift for amusing the queen should I try."
"Perhaps. We shall have to see.”
"Is that a flash of green I see in your eyes?"
Her mouth twisted, her bad temper almost rearing its head once more. "Do not be foolish. You are fortunate there are no eunuchs in the court. The new queen has called a halt to the barbaric practice.”
"A blessing.”
"You should be warned, Commander. I could still use my influence to arrange for the withdrawal of this decree.”
He only chuckled, and his fingers somehow danced along the only piece of bare skin on her arm.
"And you could also use your considerable influence to suggest a first eunuch candidate? Is that the implication I should fear?"
"Did you just break into a sweat at the thought?" she challenged, irritated that it was she who was feeling quite flushed, and all from only his light touch on her arm.
Without warning, he leaned closer, and his tone lowered to an impossibly huskier level. "Should I be anxious considering the way you delight in those words? Shall I try to convince you later of why this is not a wise idea?”
She flushed further at his implication. She had not yet invited him to her bed chamber since their return, and now it seemed he was taking it upon himself to take the initiative and invite himself. If only she did not tremble with excitement at the prospect, she would be able to tell him he was being presumptuous. "I look forward to it,” she instead admitted quietly.
She should change the subject or she could find herself yielding to temptation and taking a taste of his lips right here in the middle of the royal court. “So…” What was the thread of their conversation before thoughts of being alone with him in her bedchamber had invaded her mind? “Not a jester... Nor a eunuch... Your son has taken on the role of Constable. Prime minister?"
"Too much diplomacy involved."
She snorted. "Head groom?"
"The queen likes to ride?" he wondered nonchalantly.
"She does," she answered with confidence. Then, before she could add more to this frivolous subject, she was once again distracted. He had altered his hold on her, and his hand was now resting upon her hip. The heat of his touch scorched through the many layers of her skirts.
“There is no King Consort yet. I wonder if she would be open--”
“You forget yourself, Commander,” she snapped and stepped back, meaning his hands fell away. She ignored the instantly bereft feeling that settled upon her with the loss of contact.
“You are in quite a temper this evening, madam,” he dared tell her.
She spun around the room, so full of important people, posturing and preening or giving long winded and pompous orations, but vital for the Colonies nevertheless.
She sobered, the easy banter she had with the Commander evaporating. “I was just being selfish. Imagining another life without duty,” she admitted quietly.
He stared at his boots, shining for the formal occasion. “You can step down--”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not yet.” She approached him again, and placed her palm on his chest. “Though I am serious about a new position for you, Commander. I cannot find the energy needed to be who I must be without you by my side. Nor do I want to. My temper is swirling because I have been imagining my life without you too oft of late.”
“Your life will never be without me, Laura. Or should I say, my life could not be without you.”
She closed her eyes to keep herself from swooning into his arms. “I know,” she rasped. Of course she knew. Her mood of late was inexcusable. She glanced over at the throne again, recognising it had caused her this foolish distress. “The queen…”
Adama was glad he held a wine goblet, for he gripped it tightly to prevent himself from taking Laura in his arms. She had been more affected by the happenings of the past few months than she wished to admit.
“I am afraid the queen and the throne are the furthest thoughts in my mind when you are near,” he murmured truthfully. An unfortunate reality, given the situation.
"Oh!" She cried with a merry laugh at last, and slapped him gently on the chest where her palm had rested only moments ago, evoking all types of intimacies.
Hearteningly, she continued to jest: "Another reason for her to sharpen the axe, should she hear such a claim.”
He grinned widely at the easing of her mood into joy and laughter at last. His heart hammered with love and devotion as she returned his smile without shame.
His attention was only diverted when a group of soldiers entered the court. They formed two lines through the centre of the gallery. Half of them held gold painted axes, the other half shiny trumpets. Everyone watched as the musicians in the ranks held their instruments high into the air, Colonial flags dropped from the base of each trumpet, and soon the rifts of the Colonial Anthem filled the chamber.
Laura looked around the court, smiling and nodding to the queen's most trusted. "Saved by the trumpets, my love," she whispered from the corner of her mouth.
Like everyone else, he then watched as the queen made her way between the line of soldiers and took her place on the throne.
He then listened whilst she gave a short speech, full of reverence for her new position and hope for a stint of peace.
Next, the Prime Minister stood and moved to stand beside the throne. He unfurled a paper scroll and started the official part of the ceremony.
When his name was called, he stepped forward to the base of the throne, where he knelt before the queen as the Prime Minister read a list of deeds credited to him to the Court.
Once the Prime Minister completed his spiel, he felt a heavy weight rest upon his left shoulder. He kept his head bowed and still.
“I dub thee…”
The heavy weight lifted and rested upon his right shoulder.
“Sir William Adama.”
Much to his surprise, the peoples of the Court began to clap. He would wonder later if they were doing so merely to humour the Queen.
"Arise my brave knight of the realm."
"I shall try to as nobly as I can, but my knees are rather aged and prone to seizing,” he mumbled under his breath. “Prepare yourself, and perhaps one of your guards; I might fall."
It seemed he and the queen shared the same sense of humour. For, while the Constable and Prime Minister looked on disapprovingly, she spluttered with a fit of mirth and offered her hand to support him as he stood.
The night’s events had been the new queen’s first public duty since ascending to the throne.
Much food, drink and merriment had been offered to all in attendance before and after the ceremony of presenting a new knight to the realm. She’d been expected to discuss a range of controversial subjects to those who sought her audience throughout the evening, all the while ensuring she never revealed her opinions fully whilst doing so.
Finally, in the early hours of the morning, she had returned to her private chambers where her ladies in waiting had obligingly assisted her to bathe. Afterwards, they had unobtrusively withdrawn so she could at last take to her bedchamber.
Now her only wish was to sleep for several hours before the next day was taken up with more demands of her people. She loved them, without a doubt, but…
She would at least like to share their burden with someone, she mused, staring up at the deep maroon velvet which looped between the bed posts.
“Someone to be my equal in this new adventure,” she said aloud.
“Someone to advise and counsel you, my queen?”
She started at the deep voice coming from the end of her bedchamber. She grabbed a cover and drew it quickly around her scantily dressed form.
“How did you get in here?” she hissed, outraged but intrigued as well.
The figure moved closer.
“My guards--”
“Have strict orders to follow any order Sir William Adama utters.”
The satin bedding was gently tugged until it slipped from her grasp and rippled down to the floor beside the base of her bedchamber. Next, one finger looped beneath her night attire.
“Now… About this adventure…”
“I think,” she rasped, “from my recollection of the offer involved some years ago, there was a claim of logic and strategy on your part…”
“And passion on yours,” her intruder murmured, his memory of their first meeting obviously remaining as clear as hers.
“As well as being aware of the stakes involved,” she added.
“Oh, I think by now, my fair queen, you must have some idea of the stakes involved should we join.”
It seemed, however, the stresses of the day were still affecting her temper: “I should be irritated that you should make witticisms about something so serious. Now that I’ve become the head of the monarchy, the stakes involved--”
He silenced her tirade quite effectively -- by kissing her. It was a slow hard kiss, meant to subdue her. And, to her irritation, it did.
She melted back, letting the mattress of feathers mould around her, all thoughts of sleep overtaken by much more illicit imaginings. Her lover took the opportunity to quickly follow her, laying in the cradle her thighs soon made for his bulk.
His lips coaxed hers wider, his tongue wickedly promised more.
“If only I did not hold your opinions in such high esteem,” she murmured when they finally parted, the need to breathe overwhelming their amour for the briefest moment.
“This is not a worthy sentiment? Esteem for my opinions?” he laughingly asked as his lips moved to lower places upon her body, causing her to squirm with pleasure.
“It prevents me from offering you a more basic position within my royal house, Sir William. If you were simply a pretty man available to pander to my sensual whims, there would be much less hardship involved in defining your role. As it is, your intelligence and logic, and loyalty and friendship, only adds to your appeal and--”
“Does your mind never cease to wind, my love?” His words were murmured into the skin of her thighs.
She reached down and threaded her fingers through his thick hair. “Sometimes something happens which makes me forget all, my most beloved knight,” she said in a teasing manner. “The first time you took me to a new world with your lips, for example…”
“I live to serve my queen,” he murmured before he bowed his head and nipped her skin playfully. She squeaked in protest until he soothed the spot with his tongue. He lifted his head and held her gaze. “And now we are here, in another new world.”
“We shall come up with some plan,” she said, an air of confidence returning to her demeanour. “You make me believe," she added sincerely with tears gathering.
He moved up her body and kissed the wetness from her eyes away. “About time.”
~ The End ~