At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 04

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The next morning, he was awake by dawn with a small cluster of soldiers, practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard. He never slept long these days, and even less so whenever he was about to accomplish a campaign or stratagem - which was to say, too often. The Archmagister always cautioned that he would tire his body, and in a way Alexander knew that the manic energy that seized him at these junctures was not wholly healthy. But he'd never been able to stop himself all the same, and presently, the vitality and clarity of mind he received from swordplay was far more attractive than lazing in bed. He liked to keep strong and ready, able to defend himself; he thought poorly of rulers who would waste away simply because they could. With a particularly rapid series of lunges and parries, he was able to disarm his last opponent, and concluded the practice with satisfaction.

A servant offered a towel, and he retreated with it to his private library, where breakfast was quickly called for and brought to him, steaming and fresh-cooked. The selection was a a little more limited than the palace library proper, but it served his purposes fine for this morning: a quiet place for a chess match, and consultation with an advisor.

The adviser in question was a Duke Ethan Seymour, who also had the distinction of being one of the very few men that Alexander trusted, and was now the closest thing he had to a friend. Ethan had known Alexander long before he was King, for they had grown up together in the palace. The boyish friendship they'd formed then had somehow persisted years later, in part because of their shared intellect and interest in military tactics, but also because Ethan was patient and yielding where Alexander was decisive and aggressive. Though he came from an old and noble line, Ethan did not have a family that boasted wealth or power; nonetheless, it was to him that the King turned most often for counsel.

Alexander did not have to wait long for Ethan to arrive. They fell into conversation about the the events of the last days, and here Alexander had a simultaneously incredulous and awed audience ("You did what?" and "Of course you did" being often-repeated echoes). Ethan also had news of their southern frontier, which he'd journeyed from, and Alexander questioned him about the particulars as they set up the chessboard together.

It was only after these topics had been exhausted that Ethan ventured into another territory. "So what was she like, then, this Princess Alais?"

"Hmm?" said Alexander idly, studying his chess pieces. "I've already told you about her."

"You told me that you abducted her. Alexander, you've said nothing of the lady herself," said Ethan. He glanced sideways at his King, the analytical look in his eyes belied by the smile that threatened to break. "She must be beautiful," he suggested, studying his friend, as if to decipher a confirmation or denial. "Or special in some way, I'm sure, to move you to such...romantic passion."

Alexander smirked. "It was a political gambit, Ethan."

"Yes, I'm sure that's all there is to it," said Ethan. "But fine, fine, I'll let you be mysterious for now." He moved a pawn forward, pausing for a moment, and then broached, "I heard she came across Prince Edmure, this afternoon."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'you heard'?"

Ethan shrugged innocently. "I may know a guard or two who was present." He was brave enough to smile, and added, with good-natured humor, "Don't bother asking for their names. I won't be responsible for spilled blood on my account."

Alexander was silent long enough to instill discomfort, but he finally offered a short laugh. "I should have expected you to meddle in my affairs. So very well, you consulted your spies. I suppose you disapprove?" He took out a bishop with his queen, laying the piece aside.

"He was her betrothed," said Ethan. "And it was a reasonable request. What did it cost you to give her such peace of mind?"

"Her peace of mind is meaningless to me," retorted Alexander, indifferent. "I have what I want."

"I know. And the plan has its merits - the alliance is secure. But there are..." Ethan fumbled for the right words. "There are reasons for being...charitable, even if she is now promised to you."

"I think Edmure's fate was very educational for her. A far better incentive to behave than being charitable, don't you think?" Alexander voiced, amused, his eyes still on the board.

"And how long is that going to last?" said Ethan, with guarded frustration. "You know your court better than I do. You know how many different factions would love to sink their claws into a despondent Queen. She'll be more useful to you if she's happy."

"I see what you're trying to do," replied Alexander, this persistence finally drawing his attention from the game. "Using pragmatism to win me over. I know you're otherwise motivated. You've always been swayed more by your high-flung principles than by your good sense."

"And why are my principles so distasteful to you?" Ethan returned, with rare terseness. "There was a time when you made room for them." He hesitated, then went on, "Was this not the very same thing all those years ago that so offended - "

"That's enough," said Alexander. His voice was quiet - dangerously so.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Ethan said stiffly, after a moment. He was wise enough not to press that particular point. "I forget my place."

Alexander said nothing, but they resumed their game. This continued in uninterrupted silence, until - "Your principles aren't distasteful to me, Ethan. But I am not you." It was as close to a concession as could come from him.

Ethan relaxed, somewhat, enough to lighten his tone. "Neither would I ask you to be. Such greatness cannot be equaled, and I would not place that burden upon you." As his opponent cracked a smile, he continued, "Just - grant her some reprieves, sometimes. If not happy, let her not be tormented."

He was nothing if not persistent, especially after Alexander showed some weakness, and he managed to slip in several more reasons why prudent kindness might prevail over cruelty:

(1) A Queen actively working against him would not a smooth-running monarchy make ("She'll only be Queen in whatever capacity I allow" was countered by "Even a symbolic figurehead can wreak plenty of havoc, Alexander")

(2) The legion of hopeful would-be Queens (and their families) should not be given the added incentive of an unhappy marriage

(3) Too many schemers would be all too eager to recruit her into their conspiracies

(4) Vvaria would be more cooperative if their princess was treated well

(5) There was a non-negligible chance that Alexander's brand of torment could drive her to hurting herself

(6) She would be more enjoyable company if she were happy ("A wild wild guess, anyway")

"Hmm," said Alexander, thoughtfully. He was not immune to reasoned argument, particularly when it came from the right source - not that he currently gave any evidence of this, only silently "Why do you care so much about this?"

"Your mood, when foul, is a terrible thing indeed. Some small chance at marital bliss would spare us all," Ethan returned, prompting another chuckle. More seriously, he continued, "But also because I do believe you would be better served this way. You know I have your best interests at heart."

"Unfortunately." Alexander toyed with a pawn, shifting it forward.

"You have to admit, even for you, this whole kidnapping gambit was a little on the extreme - " The door opened at this juncture, and Ethan's words stilled in the air, unfinished, now that their privacy was disturbed.

A servant entered, curtseying. "Princess Alais, as summoned."

Alexander nodded. "Sendher in."

*****

That previous night, Alais had been ushered away into a removed wing by a bevy of servants. Not much (read: absolutely nothing) was to be done in the way of unpacking. The masquerade gown was long since discarded after that first hellish stint of travel, and she hardly had any possessions left that could be considered personal. The intricate necklace-watch and a few hairpins were the last of them which remained; for these, she lacked the heart to wear, instead keeping them tucked away away in a pocket close to her for as long as she could manage.

But as far as worldly materials went, she never wanted for anything; her assigned... slaves made sure of it. Granted, it did take her the first few hours to realize that all she needed to do was ask, as none of them ever spoke to her as they attentively carried out their duties. There was paper and paint, books (most of it Obsivian history), cards for solitaire, and even obscure puzzle games to stave off boredom in her idle confinement - and confinement was still what it was, for all the luxury and decorum beaming down from the lavish walls of her quarters. After her bath, an array of dresses and shifts had been laid across the large bed - more than she could wear in a week, much less a day. When did they take the time to measure her size?

Alais was not unfamiliar with affluence (though the extent of it here actually seemed a little obnoxious), and she could have easily written the remainder of the evening off as uneventful...were it not for the discovery that at least some of these mute attendants had been dispossessed of their tongues.

That night, she huddled completely beneath the sheets, chasing away spectres of wide-eyed men rotting in gibbets and of children with gaping, bloody holes in their mouths in her sleep. Who else had slept (or attempted to) as guest in this very bed, and where were they now? How many of them were still alive, and how many of them had wasted away in a gibbet - or on a pike? She was awake before daybreak, and the same odd rituals with these forever-silenced working girls began anew, until the morning summons.

Her choice of dresses this morning hadn't been much of a choice at all, but she still managed to make a point of selecting the marginally plainest one. As for the rest, including her hair, she surrendered to the hands of the attendants, allowing them to carry out their (or his) will. What was the purpose in struggling there? At least where the styles were not exceedingly ridiculous to her tastes, at which point her hands would have flown to her head and ripped all the pins out herself.

As the servants led her to him, anxiety knotted and unraveled, only to knot again in her chest. Was he actually serious about making her Queen? It felt much more like she was being groomed into becoming a glorified pet - but what did she know? The roles of queens here were unlike those of elsewhere. Gods forbid she come into a position of actual agency... he probably should not have been so crass in his methods if this were so. He probably should not have tried to make her detest him with a such heavy hand, because that was, essentially, what he had done.

In a distant world, he might have even commanded her admiration. Instead, he chose cruelty and her growing dread and simmering resentment (but it wasn't quite abhorrence just yet).

Poor Edmure, though. He really didn't deserve such a fate, pigheaded though he may have been.

The doors opened to what seemed a private library, where the King was seated opposite a companion, a chessboard between them.

She was aware of how he looked her over, the same possessive quality in his eye. "Ah, Princess Alais. May I present to you Ethan Seymour." With something of a smile, he added, "The real Duke of Lourbon."

Ethan rose to his feet, at once, and bowed - a full, respectable thing, not merely the slant of a gesture. He was more wiry and scholarly-looking than his counterpart, with a shock of red hair and quiet intelligence in his eyes. "A pleasure, Your Highness."

The King had not changed out of the simple tunic and breeches he'd donned for his morning exercise, a far scanter garb than he'd had on in their previous encounters (aside from the change after the spilled wine). His sleeves had been left rolled up too, exposing the sinewy muscles there, and she was conscious of the effort it took to keep her view steadfastly clear of him. He had a ridiculously mesmerizing physique. It was so unfair. Probably even more inappropriate would have been to overcompensate by gawking incredulously at the real Duke of Lourbon too much. Thus, she resigned herself to studying the various positions on the chessboard.

For a moment it seemed as though she would've much preferred joining the ground outside via self-defenestration. Her presumed indecisiveness lasted for all of ten seconds before she finally stepped forward, a conceptually taciturn 'Oh, so he exists' quickly suppressed in favor of a perfectly respectful "Your Grace" and accompanying slight dip.

There was still no life in her voice; she did not want to give the misconception that she'd come to terms with her... predicament, much less be happy with it.

"Would you care to join us?" said the King. He spoke courteously, but it always hard to tell if this would persist. "The game is almost over."

"That's confident," said Ethan wryly, under his breath.

A servant quickly fetched an additional chair for her, situated adjacent to the game, so that she commanded a full view. The setup of the pieces suggested that a very long game had elapsed, and the excess of lost pieces implied a fairly even match of skill. But Ethan's king-piece appeared to be in trouble, whereas Alexander was currently on the offensive. Nonetheless, she also picked out a few moves, though self-sacrificing, that could potentially prolong the standstill for even longer. The present setup was not unfamiliar to her, but she took care in not appearing too engaged with the board in spite of having eyed it for some time.

"Are you much of an expert on the game, Your Highness?" queried Ethan.

Alais sat down somewhat stiffly, her hands fidgeting on and off with the seams on her lap. "Not particularly, Your Grace," she answered, a looking a little outwardly uncomfortable.

She also tried to smile at him a little - a gesture he returned - as a small forewarning that any potentially objectionable behavior from her part to come would not have been his fault (most likely), for the benefit of doubt, but she was uncomfortable. The atmosphere seemed all too benign, considering. "Was I summoned for introductions?"

"No, there are a few things I'd like to discuss," the King replied. "But if you wouldn't mind waiting for a few minutes, I'd like to first resolve this game." His tone was perfectly polite, which was at least a marked improvement over some...earlier circumstances, but the sentiment still carried some presumption; he expected others to wait for his attention.

She saw Ethan glance at him with raised brows.

"You musn't think I am being discourteous," said Alexander, at this prompt. He smiled. "On the contrary. I know that I would be too distracted by an ongoing match that I would fail to provide my full attention."

His Majesty's predisposition to resolve his game was met with none other than blank staring. What did he mean, if she wouldn't mind. When did her minding ever matter. Were she not so deliberately dispassionate, she might have erupted into a fit of maniacal giggling right then.

Alais thought she had a vague concept of what he was doing, wearing the same sort of face he wore when he paraded himself as that deceitful iteration of his friend. How convincing he was then, to have her believe he was like any other human being with reasonable ethics, and how convincing he was now, so much that she could even see flickers of that maddening world where she might have grown fond of him. She'd be such a fool to actually discourage this side of him, even if she did doubt in its sincerity; but then, just how long was this going to last? For as long as Duke Ethan kept them company? What new mind game was this?

"Hmm, so he says," Ethan mused. She noticed that he was studying her, however subtly, though she did not blame him for the curiosity - and could see he was taking pains to include her in the conversation.

"Well," he continued, "if you've an interest in the game, perhaps you would be so kind as to lend me a little help." He glanced at his opponent, who looked rather smug. "His Majesty takes his games far too seriously, in my opinion. He approaches each of our matches with so much studiousness that you'd think he was conducting real battles every time. How can I hope to compete against such stern resolve?"

"He has nothing to attack me for but my earnestness," Alexander replied, with a laugh. "I hope you won't side with him just because of his sly appeal to you. The game is far closer than he would represent."

Conflict stirred in her as the two bantered so cordially with one another. The exhausted spirit in her which craved warmth wanted so bitterly to embrace the turn for what it seemed, to try and find some comfort in this arrangement, while pessimism and pride refused to take it with anything less than a sea of salt. The fitting compromise was, of course, not to fall blindly into it, but not to resist it either. She had the good fortune of the chessboard to pour her ruminations toward, as though her chief concern was whether or not she might help.

Really, she had every reason in the world to side with anyone but him.

"I'm not certain I would be of any use..." With this utterance, her eye fixed over a rook, one of Ethan's, in a curious enough position a bit aways to the side. Indecisiveness lingered for a moment longer before she reached forward with her fingertips, and gently moved it those few rule-abiding spaces toward center. And now His Majesty's queen was doubly threatened, with its options now being: either relinquish its current line of offense or be eaten, one way or another.

When she settled back into her seat, she resumed her dour staring, this time at her hands. To the critical eye, however, her posture might have appeared just a little more at ease.

Ethan shook his head, instinctively. "I considered that, but..." he began, but paused, glancing over at his opponent's queen-piece. "Huh."

Realization dawning quickly enough, his uncertainty immediately changed to delight. Alais noted to herself that he did not seem of the temperament to feel insecure at the demonstration of another's skill - he appeared to lack the arrogance for it. (In her opinion, the King, on the other hand, had enough arrogance for insecurity to bounce off altogether.)

"Well-played," Ethan said, warmly. He glanced across the board to his opponent, sharing a meaningful look.

The King did not look as surprised, but he had conjured back that same expression of seeming peeved and also oddly pleased at the same time. After a reluctance pause, he shifted the queen back.

"There we are," said Ethan. He glanced sidelong at her. "Did you speak a lie when you denied being an expert?"

Upon this gently accusational question, Alais kept her silence. She did direct him another quick and unassuming half-smile, for courtesy's sake. It wasn't really his fault, but the added effect of the certain other presence at the table made speaking freely exceedingly distasteful. No matter how charming or amicable he was being right now, it wouldn't redeem him from all those... afflictions he'd subjected her to. So what if she did had something of a thick skin and wasn't really as impacted as she was supposed to (and as she'd made herself out to) be. The presumption that all could be forgiven after twenty minutes of apparent goodwill was even somewhat insulting.

Deep within, she knew this line of thought had to have been borne from a reckless, fruitless sense of stubbornness. It would get her nowhere; it had destructive potential... but how was she to abide this? This? Lounging about as though they were now betrothed in perfectly happy and ordinary circumstances? Was this even real?