At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 09

Changeable as always, Alexander cooled at once with the question. In some respect, he knew it was a little unfair. After all, he was the one who brought up the subject of his brother in the first place. And yet, though he would have tolerated - and indeed, would have been happy to answer, in his current mood - any other question (what was he like? did they get along? how did he get anywhere if not on horseback?), it was not any other question that had been posed. The truth was that this was the one rumor that Alexander detested above all others, and despite his best efforts (or perhaps because of them, considering the nature of his efforts) had grown to be one of the most widespread whispers in his kingdom and the ones beyond.

Most did not make even insinuations about his ostensible usurpation, much less ask him about it to his face (however obliquely). The subject questioned his legitimacy, and so was inherently dangerous - but more than that, he'd shown himself to be especially...sensitive about it. Which, in retrospect, probably made him look even more guilty, but what was a belligerent King to do.

In any case, because his answer should have been common knowledge - the official story was publicized - he found any questions about it redundant and distasteful. It was essentially an accusation, even if wrapped up in all the innocence of a casual question.

She was backpedaling now, seizing upon a distraction.

"Leave the umbrella - " he began to say, but it was too late. Right after the umbrella she went, careening clean off the boat and splashing magnificently into the water.

Alexander only had a moment to be flabbergasted, watching her sink down into the embrace of the lake. Then panic set in, and along with it a newfound sense of urgency. She couldn't be lost - he had taken such pains to take possession of her, she was the key to all of his plans. There was another undercurrent to his emotion - some innate sense that he would lose something precious - but he hardly had the time to register it.

The barge, rocketed by her movements, had already dipped sideways enough to begin rapidly accumulating water, which was just as well - Alexander launched out of its confines and immediately dove in the direction of her ripples, aware that he had precious little time to act. He was clothed lightly, given the warm temperature, and did not have the excess of cloth and lace to encumber him; smoothly, he waded deep down, one arm extending to quickly encircle her waist.

But there was still too much of that dress, too many layers weighing them both down now - Alexander could see the surface light grow dimmer and dimmer, the sunlight slowly quenched by the depths of the lake. Thinking quickly, he unsheathed the dagger from his belt (how convenient that he was paranoid enough to keep it there always) and, grasping the laces of her gown, sliced through the binding material and struggled to tear it off.

With the excess cloth shed, her unencumbered body was now light enough in his arms to maneuver. With strong, deliberate kicks, he shepherded them to the surface, as the mussed remains of her gown fell dejectedly behind them.

When he finally broke past the water, he gasped at once, greedily sucking in air while holding her aloft. Their boat was long since destined to dissolution, and was nowhere to be found (beyond a series of wider ripples something south of them and two slaves swimming for the shore), but in the distance, he could hear shouting and alarm, and the sound of scrambling men. A boat would be coming, soon - he just had to keep them afloat until then.

By the time they were rescued, he had just enough strength left to hand her in, before climbing aboard himself. The first seconds were spent on all fours, catching his breath, but that did not hold his attention for long.

"How is she?" he demanded, his gaze searching for her prone figure. "Will she make it?"

As for the umbrella - the umbrella had floated benignly back up to the surface, rolling merrily over the spot where she had nearly drowned.

*****

There was a sharp gasping noise, and suddenly she half-sat half-slumped over the edge of the boat, coughing and choking out the unwelcome contents of her lungs. And there probably needed to be some amount of damage control. Oh gods, she hadn't meant to fall into the water. For once, an honest accident. Was Angry King going to rear its head again? Suddenly, the embrace of a watery grave seemed more welcoming after all.

"I'm sorry - " she started unevenly, and broke off into more miserable coughing over the vessel. "... my fault - "

Her skull throbbed as though it'd been worked on as one would ceremonial drums. Her head hadn't ached this much since - oh, of course, since the time he'd poisoned her. And there was so much of her body crying for attention (least of which being her dread of his reaction) that she hadn't even begun to realize she was shivering faintly from cold.

She was surprised to see, however, that the only emotion written in the King's face was relief - it looked almost strange on his features (as surely as the surprise of this morning), as if it wasn't an emotion often registered. The strength of it confused her, until - oh, of course: she recollected her importance in his war plans.

He merely stared at her for a few seconds, still catching his breath. His shirt was dripping water into the boat, as was her shift. Near the shore, shouts and cries could be heard from various distressed servants. As if seeming to realize the ridiculousness of the situation, he began laughing.

Not Anger. Laughing King. At first her disorientation fed into her confusion - but after a few moments, when he was still laughing, a mollified sigh parted from her lips. She reached outward, and though she lacked the good humor to laugh herself (having just nearly drowned), it seemed fairly reasonable to reach out and give her husband a quick hug of thanks.

It was a silent gesture. A steady, yet squeezing, embrace, and then it was done.

Another flicker of surprise went over his countenance, but then he only smiled. "We seemed to spend a lot of time wet in each other's company," he remarked. It was true - when they had gone to the shrine, the waterfall had soaked them through. "Well," he said, his smile growing mischievous, as he recollected a second meaning to his words. "You more so than I."

"That's terrible," was all she could manage, shivering with her arms about her as she was. If she got sick again... And that was when she did almost start to laugh.

The same thing seemed to be on his mind, for as soon as they docked, he had a thick cloak fetched, which he draped over her; the second of his objectives was to get a fire started, which was conjured at a frankly impressive speed by the nervous servants.

"Sit, rest," he said, guiding her toward the warmth. His smile was wry. "I won't have you sick again on my watch."

She didn't need more convincing to bask in the heat of the crackling fire, her palms rubbing against the cloak clinging against her arms, as she waited there on her knees. The cloak scented of musk and sandalwood and warmth, almost prompting her to wrap it a bit more tightly about her. It smelled like him.

After a moment, he settled down next to her. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders, so that she might lean against him; his shirt had since been changed for a dry one (a reminder of yet another time he'd gotten wet, that time by the act of a thrown goblet).

"I didn't mean to startle you so, back there," he said, looking down on her. Some humor still lingered in the way his lips were set.

"It's fine," she said. For now, he was a comfort, and she could accept that. "I only wanted to know why he - your brother - stopped communicating with the rest of the world like that. He spoke of you often, you know." Practically speaking of a different individual entirely, once upon a time.

"Did he?" said the King. His smile became fainter. "What did he say?"

"It was a long time ago. I was very young." She turned her gaze to the flames, as if trying to remember. "It wasn't difficult to be fond of the... idea of you. Does that make sense?"

A few days ago, Alais could not have reconciled such a thing. Now she at least seemed to be past the point of caring.

"It does." The King was silent for a few moments, before he finally offered an answer to the dormant question. "He abdicated in my favor and went to the monastery. He was never that interested in ruling - he thought of it as an obligation, instead of a privilege. He liked his books and solitude more."

"That would explain why he stopped responding to letters too," she added, nudging him in a half playful note. She seemed satisfied by this answer.

"He's a bit of a recluse," said the King. There seemed to be more to this, judging by his expression, but he didn't expand. "I wouldn't have taken his life for the crown." He gazed sidelong at her. "Perhaps you think I am capable, and given what you've seen of me, that's fair. But I do have my limits. Family is different."

Odd, he almost seemed human in that moment. "It's an ugly rumor," she agreed. "I understand. Brothers are important like that." She did not need to embellish the quiet sincerity when she said it.

They fell into a silence that was almost peaceable, listening to the crackling of the fire and warming in each other's contact. His arms had encircled her, and what with that and the cloak, she felt snugly enveloped; her chills disappeared after a few minutes, and soon she was nearly dry.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much better," she affirmed.

"Hmm." He touched his finger to her cheek, which was still a little cold. "I think I'd like to warm you up a bit more." He turned to glance at the sun, which hung a modest distance from the horizon. "Yes, we have enough light in the day for it, as long as we don't stay too long."

"Where are we going?" she asked, as he rose. She made to follow, but this proved unnecessary - he summarily picked her up, carrying her to where Kumquat stood waiting. "I can walk, you know."

"Oh, but isn't it easier this way?" It was too easy how he carried her weight, as if she were as light as air - it seemed terribly unfair. He settled her on her sidesaddle, before mounting his own horse. "I've always thought noblewomen liked having things done for them," he teased.

"Some do," was all she said. "You haven't answered my question, by the way."

"It'll be warm - that's all you need to know."

*

A modest trek later, through a thick thicket of trees, they came across what appeared to be an aged, hulking cave, marked by several boulders on either side. As they traversed inside, a steady warmth set in, slow and heavy, and a certain dampness registered about the air.

Ahead, water of an entrancing, crystalline blue reflected off the surfaces of the cavern chamber. The pool, wide as it was mesmerising in its subtle ripples and refracting light, drained off in a few smaller tunnels here and there. A constant flow of a thin and chaotic fountain sprayed new spring waters into what would have been a pristinely still body. A fine mist clung above its surface, and breathing it in had just shy of a dizzying effect.

Warmth washed over her in waves, such that she had to loosen the collar of her cloak to fend off suffocation. The hot spring made for a very beautiful sight, if that had been his intent.

"But," she said, feeling strange as she did, "it's summer."

"Yes," the King agreed, "but since cold waters have proved to be such a hazard before, I thought we'd try a change of pace."

He loosened his cloak as well, and then discarded it entirely, letting it fall at a heap at his feet. "I suppose we'll just have to unburden ourselves," he said, with a playful flicker of a smile.

Oh.

He glanced sidelong at her, his expression drawn into an imitation of coyness, as if to imitate her own. Having shrugged off his tunic and letting it join his cloak, he offered a cheeky smile. "Would my lady require some assistance?"

Given that Alais had exposed herself only a few times to him (to any man) before, she thought she had every reasonable justification to be nervous, adore him though she did. A cave out in the wilds was also a far cry from the traditional, (arguably) safe confines of a bedchamber.

Her glance flitted skittishly behind them, toward the entrance of the misty cavern, as if to wonder where everyone had gone. Maybe - just maybe if someone had only told her sooner, she might have eventually mustered up the willpower to strip at his behest - the warm waters were not without their temptations, after her feverish chills - but no. He always had to toy with her, surprising her like this as if to intentionally catch her off guard.

Surely her apprehensions were not unfounded, even when she loved him. And to her credit, she managed to make her hesitation seem more bewildered and nonplussed than anything like the hostile unwillingness of before.

She smiled uneasily, making no more motion to disrobe after loosening her cloak, and began to pace the perimeter of the natural pool at a miraculously steady rhythm. "Oh, that's all right. I'll be fine sitting by the edge." The steam felt remedial enough. Her back was turned to him, so that he might undress in privacy - a little more than he'd ever afforded her, so surely that might be construed as nothing less than an act of thoughtful consideration.

The King chuckled, as if she were being very silly indeed by not promptly stripping down at his behest, but he didn't press the point - for now. "Suit yourself."

There came the sounds of him undressing, distantly behind her, and then faint stirrings of water as he dipped in. "You can look now," he said, humor in his voice - it was highly likely he would not have cared one bit if she had ogled.

Her eyes turned to him, in all his... gleaming nudity, but for once this was not further cause for apprehension. He was very well built; there was no need to fight against the current anymore. She didn't stare for too long, though. Whether her being a (fairly reasonable) prude was due to tragic inexperience or more innate attributes was still beyond her. Either way, Alais liked to think it was the abruptness of the event which toppled her guard this time. Once the suggestion (actually just a suggestion, wonder of wonders) to strip down had passed, she actually did feel more at ease in her environment. The luminous surface of the water, along with those swirling, dancing vapors, attracted her attention easily, and there her attention comfortably remained.

Fortunately, the King seemed to be in the mood where her uncertainty amused him rather than put him off, and it was clear that he enjoyed intentionally flustering her. "Come here, Alais. Sit by me."

Again to her credit, she responded to his further prompting with nothing less than the grace of a bride who was (more or less, and selectively) happy to comply. She settled down onto the ledge next to him (ostensibly without any sort of reluctance), her knees propped up and her toes resting right against the precipice. The cloak, at least, had worn out its welcome and had slipped off her shoulders by now, resting in a heavy, rippled pool of cloth behind her.

"Did this need to be a surprise? I might have brought a towel." Just then (when he wasn't looking), she adjusted the skirts of her still-drying shift, bunching them up just below her knees (so as not to get them wet again), and dipped her calves slowly into the water.

"Oh, but I like surprising you," said the King, lightly. He reached out, but the gesture turned out to be quite innocent - a little touch on her nose, and that was it. "You have the funniest reactions."

"That's unfair when I lack as many opportunities to surprise you," she said - and reached out in turn, ruffling his hair.

He raised a brow, at this little trespass. It was a very affectionate and familiar gesture, and she knew she was taking a liberty (which was different from all the liberties he took, since it was he who held the power). But, she reasoned, his head was right there within reach - same as her nose within his. How could that, alongside the tickling, have been anything but fair game? In a way she had her own boundaries to test, though hers were decidedly less sinister in comparison. Her logic was beautifully simplistic. How could she claim to adore him, if she shied away from these simplest of warmhearted gestures? Where was the harm in it, if she loved him as much as she strived to (for as long as it was her only option to not persist in misery and in strife)?

Actions, even the littlest of gestures - like the sweet fondness in her gaze, the way she tousled him readily and without fear, how the most free spirited of her whims guided her - would be everything, and it meant far more than proclaiming her love aloud. Indeed, it was so much more, so much deeper than something like flattery - not to mention lies she'd crammed down her own throat to enforce believability, that uncanny air of sincerity even when he surely must have realized how close she stood to detesting him just days ago.

He smiled, seeming to allow it. "I think you've been surprising me just fine without any assistance." But, of course, he was not going to leave it there, and let her get away with it without some playful vengeance of his own. Her legs were dangling in the water still - she should have anticipated that his hand would find her ankle, but a surprised exhale escaped her all the same, much to his amusement. With warm (very warm, as heated by the waters) fingers, he massaged her from heel to toe, with a slowness that could be described as sensual.

"Are you sure you won't join me?" he asked, as he lazily kneaded up her leg. He paused, just below her knee, right where she was no longer submerged. With a mischievous look, he gave a light, teasing tug - nowhere strong enough to actually pull her into the pool, but did (playfully) dislodge her balance a little.

"Ah-" Her breath caught, and she all but squeaked as his ploy sent her sliding a few inches toward the ledge - admittedly, she'd been lulled into some sense of comfort by the massage. But another instance of soaked garments was not her definition of funny. Lurching backwards, she regained her balance promptly, only to chastise him immediately after, "That's not funny!"

He only smirked, leaning back against the wall of the pool, stretching back slowly and languidly - and in doing so, exposed more of the toned muscles that marked his body. Judging by the way he watched her - with that characteristic smirk - he probably knew he was showing himself off to his advantage (and admittedly she was trying not to stare). "No? But it's very comfortable in here."

"I'm comfortable where I am," she retorted. Her tone remained as sweetly affectionate as ever, but there was no concealing her flustered response.

She nudged at his shoulder with a light push of her foot, sending gentle splashes upwards into the air. After a moment, for good measure, she willfully kicked another splash over the back of his head. And another. And another. And finally with the use of her hands, scooping with reproachful (albeit playful) determination.

The splashes managed to liberally drench him, sending rivulets flowing down his face. He did laugh, now. "I'm not sure that was entirely wise, for someone so afraid of getting wet herself," he said, having noticed the way she lurched back. "And you already know that I have a tendency to retaliate."

Despite this, he did not splash her yet, but rested his elbows on the edge of the stone, leaning casually forward. "Enough of this. Join me."