Summary: Duty has always been at the forefront of his mind, and he knows it will always rule his life. He has done as duty asked and married his foreign bride, for the good of his realm. But his realm is still at war, and he cannot sit at home, wooing and love-making, while his people die in battle. With his mind utterly focused on a border miles away, his marriage becomes neglected, his friendships become time-consuming, his health becomes unimportant; to the end that everything he once felt intensely about is overshadowed by the passion to do right by duty.

A/N: I'm throwing all caution to the wind and posting this first chapter already. Bear with me; I'm afraid this chapter is a little like "Roald did this, then he does that"- enough already! It does get more interesting, but this first chapter has to be- like all first chapters- the introduction. So, in short, please stick around.

A few points:

This is set in the December following Lady Knight, based at Corus.

Chapters will be about the length of this chapter (around the 2,500 word mark, not precise). I'm not sure how many chapters there will be- at a rough guess I'd say 8-12, depending on what point I decide to end this on.

The rating may be liable to change later, as the story progresses.

I have taken liberties with the younger Conté children, as we know so little about them, giving them rough ages, personalities and lives as I feel fit.

Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, as always. If you want to contact me, feel free.

I'd also like to take this moment to say that (1) Yes, I have read Tammy's books, before I get any more reviews asking me and (2) Although I've been in a serious long-term relationship, I have not been married (I say this just to clarify, because the story is largely about Roald and Shinko's marriage).

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise as Tamora Pierce's.

Dedication: To those I know that fear change, that fear the vulnerability they feel when their structured lives are shaken from their rigid routines. To those that cannot express themselves.

Shadowed Passions.

Chapter One.

Roald sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as he turned the corner. Feeling the bristles on his chin, he grimaced: it had been a long day. His fingers moved round to the back of his neck, working at the knot in the muscles there as he walked; he tried to ignore that dull throbbing in his temples that had refused to leave him alone the last few days.

With his mind so distracted, the scroll he was carrying slipped out of his hand and fell, whispering, to the wooden floor. He stopped and bent to pick it up.

Without the rhythmic padding of his boots, the corridor fell eerily silent: the palace was asleep. Not even a flicker of candle flame showed beneath the nearby doors. It was a grim realisation of the late hour.

Stifling another exhausted sigh, Roald continued on his way, passing soon into the Royal wing of the palace. He took the left fork where the corridor split and paused before his door, looking further down the passageway.

There was, of course, no light from under Kalasin's door, and he refused to let his thoughts drift to the Empress at this time of day. It was far too late for him to begin missing his sister again.

There was no light, either, from his brothers' rooms. Liam was with his knight master somewhere on the border, Roald wasn't sure where exactly any more. The Grand Progress had been underway when Liam had first passed his page examinations and become a squire, so he hadn't been taken by a knight until six months ago, when further recruits were taken to the war.

Jasson- well, Roald wasn't entirely sure where Jasson was. Roald frowned at the thought of his youngest brother. The boy had dropped out of his page training after barely two years, to everyone's shock. The twelve year old had shrugged imperiously and stated that it "simply wasn't for him". He had spent the time since then doing as he pleased, when he pleased, much to Roald's displeasure. Roald knew their Mother often tried to talk sense into the boy, to no success. The King was usually too busy to do anything but growl his disapproval.

Roald guessed Jasson was either fast asleep or off on one of his "adventures", escapades which were not entirely sensible when the realm was at war.

To Roald's surprise, there was light from under Lianne's door, a dull orange glow that told him she must have the fire and a few candles lit. He frowned, and turned towards her room – then changed his mind. Lianne was sixteen now; she could handle herself. Chances were she didn't want to be disturbed at this hour anyway.

He quietly eased his chamber door open and, with it once again closed, pressed his back to the wood while he waited for his eyes to adjust. It was pitch black in here, but pleasantly warm, and once he could vaguely make out the denser shadows of furniture, he began to pick his way through the room. Dropping the scroll on a nearby cabinet, he opened the door that led into the bedroom he shared with his wife.

Again, he paused just inside the doorway, this time listening intently. Less than a minute had passed before he caught the sound of Princess Shinkokami's breathing, calm and steady as she slept.

His mind put at ease that his wife was present and well, Roald moved as quietly as he could around the room, depositing his boots by the door and his clothes on a chair. One lonely candle was alight on the windowsill near the bed. Roald briefly smiled upon seeing it, guessing that Shinkokami had left it for his return.

His clothes chest creaked slightly as he pushed it open and he winced, waiting, and hoping it hadn't disturbed his wife. There was no change in her breathing and he quickly pulled his night clothes out and shut the chest. Another job to see to, he thought, as the chest hinges complained again.

He pulled the clothes on quickly, shivering slightly while he stood on the cold floor. It was rapidly approaching midwinter and the weather was becoming harsher with every morning's frost.

Silently he slipped between the covers on his side of the large bed. Lying on his back, he folded his hands across his torso. It was bliss just to get off his aching feet, and he suddenly wished Kally wasn't all those miles away in Carthak. He would really appreciate one of her gentle massages right now, her cool Gift-laced fingertips expertly removing the throbbing from his back, feet and neck. Lucky Kaddar, Roald thought with grim good humour.

His thoughts made him look to his left, where his own wife lay unaware of his presence. She hadn't so much as shifted when his body weight had caused the bed to dip.

She was lying with the curve of her back towards him and her head resting on one forearm. Her black hair- only just visible in the light- was a sleek shadow surrounding her face and falling across the crisp white pillow. He felt a little longing to reach out and stroke that perfectly soft hair, but he stayed perfectly still.

After having watched Shinkokami sleep peacefully for a full minute, Roald sighed, leant up and blew the solitary candle out. He settled back down again, his solid back facing his wife.

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Crown Prince Roald was awake with the sun, his body used enough to the early rising to override his tiredness. Shifting into a sitting position, he glanced at Shinkokami. She was, as usual, still fast asleep.

Sighing, Roald leant over and, careful not to wake her, brushed her hair back off her face. Then he shook himself free of the clinging bed sheets and left the bed chamber.

A bath was already waiting for him in his private dressing salon, steam rising from the water. Shedding the nightgown, he sunk gratefully into the warmth, thinking again how cold the icy mornings were.

He knew, as he did everyday, that he could not afford to waste time lazing like a court lady: if he wanted to get everything done, he had to start early. He scrubbed himself clean quickly, towelled himself dry and slipped into his undergarments.

His manservant had propped his shaving mirror next to a bowl of warm water. Roald wasn't keen on his beard; he privately felt he looked too much like his father for his own comfort when he didn't shave.

Efficiently his skilled hands skimmed the blade over his chin, cheeks, and neck, removing the dark bristles that had grown since yesterday. Skilled his hands may be (they had had many years of practice), but they were also tired and had not the same accuracy they usually possessed.

He gasped- considerably more in surprise than in pain- when he nicked his skin. As he peered in the mirror at the side of his neck, he could see the blood swell up already, and he pressed a slightly trembling finger to the cut to confirm its reality. His fingertips came away red and stained.

Shaking his head, Roald searched his dressing table until he found small squares of cotton for blotting. His manservant no longer laid them out in the morning because Roald so infrequently erred.

Roald held a folded cloth to his neck until the bleeding had stopped, watching the sun climb the sky through the small window. He was a patient man, but he knew this was wasting precious seconds of his morning.

Once the bleeding had stopped, he completed his shave. Placing the razor back on the work top, he peered again into the mirror to check he had not missed any area. The dark rings beneath his eyes struck him and he rubbed a finger along one. The skin was smooth, but it was an inescapable herald of his lack of sleep.

He turned away, deciding to ignore it. No-one would comment on the bags beneath the Crown Prince's eyes.

Quickly he rubbed sandalwood-smelling ointment into his face, neck and hands. It took him no time at all to put on the clothes waiting and, after a quick comb of his short hair, he sat down. He took a few moments to tie his boots so that they were comfortable; his feet always ached so much in the evenings nowadays.

He stood before the full length mirror for one quick look before he left. Impeccable, as ever. There was nothing particularly stunning about the grey and black clothes he wore, but the fact that every detail was perfectly set was what mattered to Roald.

He checked on his wife as he passed back through the bedroom. She was still asleep, although her position had changed now. He stood, looking down on her for a silent moment, hesitating. Fluidly, rapidly, he bent down, touched the barest kiss to her cheek and left his chambers.

The servants had started on their day's duties as Roald walked briskly through the palace. Shutters were thrown open to let the sun into the corridors and halls. Maids bustled around with chamber pots and jugs of steaming water and armfuls of fresh linen. They all dodged his highness with expert ease and it didn't take Roald long to reach the offices.

This was where his Uncle Gary worked, this was the realm he ruled over and that long, heavy-looking desk beyond the open door was his throne. The odd clerk or two were beginning to drift in and out, but most would not arrive until the bell tolled the official start of the day.

Roald went through to a much smaller room. Leaving the door open, he could see into the main office and just about see into Gareth of Naxen's private room on the other side.

The Prince glanced at the neat stack of documents on the desk.

'Right where I left you,' he murmured, and sat down, pulling the papers towards him.

They were papers on trivial, everyday issues that- regardless of their triviality- still had to be dealt with by someone. Someone official had to sign things, somebody had to keep an unbiased eye on the clerks just in case one of them tried anything sneaky. The work involved mainly small things that could be very boring, longwinded and time-consuming and Roald had taken it upon his head to sort them out himself.

The Prince ran an eye over the first scroll and stifled a yawn, fighting to swallow it. Here was a typical document of what he spent his days gazing over at the moment. On the left hand side was a list of all the resources the kitchens had used in the last week and on the right was the corresponding tally of expenditure.

He scanned down the list, checking everything seemed reasonable. Seeing the meat used over one week alone, he shook his head; he still marvelled at the sheer quantity of food the palace got through. For that particular reason the palace had always kept their own livestock- Roald didn't want to imagine the bills if they had to buy all their meat from external sources.

Everything seemed in order so Roald signed the bottom of the parchment and placed it to his right. He dutifully took the next document from the pile on his left: the fortnightly account from the vast network of stables supporting the palace. Roald refused to think negative thoughts and continued with his work.

The Prince was reading the grim request from an outwards fief to have the identified body of their son delivered to them when the great bell tolled and the rest of the workers began to spill into their offices. There were frequent such requests to have bodies returned for proper burial from the Scanran War, particularly if the man in question was a knight. What the families didn't always realise was that there might not be a body to return.

Gareth of Naxen entered the main office, a stack of fresh scrolls in his arms. Turning to talk to Cenet, his "second in command", he noticed the Prince hard at work in his separate little room. Gary clamped his mouth tight shut and frowned.

'What is he doing here again?'

'Who, sir?' asked Cenet, but was ignored as Gareth walked away. Shifting his armloads, he knocked mockingly on Roald's open door.

'Don't lecture me, Uncle Gary,' was Roald's prompt reply. He didn't look up. 'We both have work to get on with.'

'Your highness, you-'

'Trying to persuade me won't work either, Uncle.'

Gary sighed; this was something they argued about every morning. 'Is that so?' At Roald's nod, Gary pursed his lips together- hesitated- then beckoned a young boy to his side. 'Have some food delivered to his Highness immediately.'

The boy stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed until Gareth elaborated, speaking slowly and clearly as if the boy had lost his wits. 'Ask the kitchen staff to bring a tray of food up for the Prince- some rolls, cheese, fruit- I don't believe his Highness has broken his fast yet.' With a hasty nod, the boy scurried off, and Gareth returned to his nephew.

'You really don't have to do this, Roald. There are clerks to do what you are doing.'

'Someone should help you keep an eye on things.'

'You don't need to check over all the accounts. There are the head clerks to do that- and you know as well as I do that they are magically bound to be honest about the palace's money.'

'We need to save as many coppers as we can, Uncle, for this war. We don't want it to suck us completely dry because we've been a little too lenient with our feasting and a little too excessive with our luxuries.'

Gary sighed. 'You're unshakeable, lad, I'll give you that.' He left the Prince to start his own work and a few minutes later, a maid entered the small room.

She placed her tray down on a side bench and came to his main desk, where she shifted some papers until there was space enough for his breakfast.

Ordering breakfast was something Gary had recently introduced to the morning's ritual, something Roald was glad of. It saved him interrupting his work to go elsewhere to eat, yet prevented him from going hungry.

Roald glanced up and saw the same pretty thing that greeted him every morning. She was delicate, in a way quite different from his porcelain-looking wife. Her skin was healthily tanned, her face heart-shaped, her rather large eyes round and blue-grey. Her hair was long and ruddy brown in colour and today, Roald noticed, she wore some of it down around her shoulders and the rest in a tight bun low on the back of her head. Her ears, slightly pointed at the top, peeked through the strands of hair that hung loose. The plain blue and white uniform of the palace servants did not particularly flatter her dainty, petite figure.

Noticing the Prince was looking at her, she smiled bashfully and lowered her gaze to her hands. She transferred his breakfast from the tray to the corner of his desk. A little terracotta pot of honey followed a bowl of warm porridge. A plate held freshly baked rolls, slices of ham and chunks of mellow cheese. Finally, a small bowl held a selection of fruit and was accompanied by a large jug of cool fruit juice.

Roald smiled at the spread. 'Were you waiting for the call?' The maid coloured prettily at the direct attention.

'Yes, your Highness, we are glad to help you.'

'Do you think you could bring the same up slightly earlier tomorrow, without waiting for a summons, please?'

The young woman (she must be about nineteen, Roald had often thought) bobbed a curtsey. 'As you wish, your Highness.'

'Thank you.' Roald turned his attention to the honey and the delicate little maid quietly disappeared again.

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