Alexander's regard of the man was scathing. He was aware of the tension in the room and he gloried in it. "Mr. Wylore, is there a problem?" As the man was about to speak, he raised a hand to stop him. "Did I not ask for funds to be allocated or was it not included in the letter?"
He nodded. "It was, Your Majesty…" "Then, why trouble me, or do you presume I do not already have enough to do?" "No, of course, Your Majesty. I only intended to confirm." "Mr. Wylore," He called, sitting forward and clasping his hands together. It was a look to cause fear. "if I need to give my present consent every time, then I suggest you retire soon." "No Sire, I_ I would nev_ I did not intend_" Alexander smiled. How greatly he enjoyed to tease, and making people uncomfortable was a joy. "Shall we review the accounts?" It was neither a plea nor askance. Mr. Wylore climbed to him, turned the pages and began to read it to his hearing. Tapping his feet rhythmically on the floor, Alexander listened to the Solicitor ramble on and on about the funds St. James was demanding for weapons and housing for the soldier he was 'borrowing' from the royal guards. He sat, leaning to the edge, paying little attention to the parchment the man held out. When he was shown the total, all his attention was attained. He collected the parchment. "Are you certain these accounts are true?" "Yes, My Lord. I was present when Sir St. James asked for it and also present when the accounts were finalized. Is something wrong?" A coward St. James was indeed, asking for quite an amount to set up a temporary army. He heaved. Perhaps it was time for the man's retirement. He heard the doors open but he did not care to look who had come in, eyes still roaming about the parchment. It must be another villager who had travelled far to complain of the harshness of the weather. As though he controlled the seasons. But soon, overlapping footsteps arrived before him. "Your Majesty," It was Edmund. "the Duke of Carlisle and his guests." He announced and stepped aside. Carlisle? He had arrived? Alexander raised his eyes and subconsciously, a smile formed in favour of his old friend, his only friend. The Lord of Carlisle who had been a part of his life since he was eight. The former Duke of Carlisle, driven by greed, had without shame given up his nine-year-old son to Mainecroft Castle, as a testament of allegiance to his father, the former king. His motives were rooted in the pursuit of wealth and the hopes of greater power and closeness to the crown, envisioning his only child as a mere pawn in his quest for more. The dukedom of Carlisle was, and had always been a great duchy, which made Alexander wonder what other greatness the greedy man had wanted. Charles de Norcrosse - Carlisle - had been given up as a pawn to the then-king, but instead, he became a friend of the heir to the throne. He became a friend to the current king even when they were yet boys. Through the greed of the old man, Alexander had gained a true friend, one who was a confidant, who he could be his true self with, someone who wordlessly embraced his flaws and indulged his every whim, besides Brand. And the nine-year-old gained what his father always wanted but never could; the friendship of the royal house. Alexander gave the parchment to Wylore and walked down to his friend. "I suppose I have to condescend to threats to see you, don't I, Carlisle? And to lay eyes on you, an invitation?" "Your words never move me." He said, standing still. "I came, responding to the content of the note received at Carlisle Crest. And in extension, to see Brand. Is he here yet?" Alexander tried hard not to laugh or comment too quickly, asking of his guests. Carlisle's guests were ladies. All of them! His curious bone was jabbing at him but he held it in. He breathed in and out deeply, holding his hands together behind him. "Those will be infamous last words, I warn you." Their gaze stayed for a moment, then Carlisle reached and put his arms around him, embracing him. "I suppose it has been long, has it not?" He said. So he had noticed? Alexander found himself still smiling, returning the embrace. "I'm glad to see you." He pulled back. "If only you would spare me a smile, all would be forgiven. But your face is as frozen as your manners." Carlisle's inability to smile was his greatest regret for his friend. It was a lingering shadow in his otherwise illustrious existence. Charles de Nocrosse, known to the world as the Duke of Carlisle, was a man who bore the burden of a fractured soul. He was still haunted by the scars of his tumultuous past and carefully, he concealed his inner turmoil beneath layers of aristocratic veneer, and sure it remained unseen by the scrutinizing eyes of society. While many attributed his solemn demeanour to pride, Alexander understood the deeper truth: he was a man with the soul of a broken boy, one ruined in more ways than one. Carlisle's smile had been stolen from him by the very person he once trusted implicitly - his father - leaving behind a void that no wealth or status could fill. His sense of humour now lay dormant beneath the weight of past betrayal. Despite his outward protestations, Alexander knew of the longing within Carlisle, even if he swore otherwise; a silent yearning to reclaim the joy that had been stolen from him. Above all else, Alexander wished to see Carlisle rediscover the ability to smile. He recognized the silent plea buried beneath Carlisle's stoic façade, a desire for healing and redemption that resonated deeply within both men, bound by shared experiences and unspoken understanding. Alexander returned to sit on his throne, exalting himself. He turned to Wylore and whispered. "Let St. James have all the funds asked for, I order it." He signed the parchment. Maybe with this, better news would come, he thought. Wylore bowed to all presence and quickly strode down the room, vanishing from sight. He turned to Carlisle. "Next time, I will declare your arrest." He said, cupping his chin in his hand and resting the elbow on the chair's arm. Carlisle eyed him. "Or you could grace Carlisle Crest with your presence." His smile raised higher. "Now what joy could be derived from that? I'd rather order about, I am King after all." His brow arched. Oh, how easily he could joke and smile with his friend! But he was reaching the limit of patience, he needed to know who his guests were. Carlisle sighed. "I suppose so. I should send notes more often. But I can never find the time to do so. Running a Duchy is bothersome." Alexander exploded with laughter. Carlisle could joke? That was a welcome surprise. But his curiosity would not let him explore this newfound side of his friend. He would explore much later. He turned to the ladies standing so quietly behind the man with the newfound humour. "Who are your guests? As beautiful as they are, the times of tributes to Kings are long gone." He noticed how sharply the eyes of the one with the red hair swore at him. feisty, he concluded. Carlisle moved slightly forward to stand in front of her. "Your Majesty, this is Lady Beth Fitzgerald, her sister, Lady Gwen, and their cousin Lady Lucy Gallagher. I promise them a tour of the Castle grounds." His lips quivered to comment but he heard himself. Rather, he repeated. "Lady Beth, Lady Gwen and Lady Lucy." The ladies bowed. His eyes moved about them but stayed unwilling on the golden-haired lass. "Beautiful." He murmured, unknowingly and quickly caught himself. "Lovely to meet you all." He said in haste, trying to redeem himself. Then turned to Carlisle. "Who are they?" "Acquaintances." Alexander's brows rode high of their own accord. "Though, I seek a hand of friendship with Lady Beth." He gestured, pointing to one of the redheads – Lady Beth Fitzgerald. Good, he thought. "Great!" He uttered and then announced. "Then she I must curry favour with for your sake." He relaxed somewhat relieved Carlisle's interest lay in one of the redheads and not the golden-haired one. "Um Carlisle, for a moment there, I thought you were after her hand in marriage." Carlisle glared. He smiled harder. "Pity." He was enjoying himself and very much so. He turned to the lady "The trip here was good, I suppose?" She bowed fully. "Yes, Your Majesty. It was nothing but." He was still smiling and it was one of mischief. "Hmm. How do you find the Castle thus far?" He leaned forward. Her eyes shone. "It is more than I imagined." She said quietly but he felt her excitement.Alexander chose to indulge her excitement, but Carlisle was glaring still. "I am tempted to hear what your imaginations are, but I'm not keen on the glares of Carlisle here. He probably thinks I am in the act of seducing you." Her jaw dropped. This time, he chuckled. Oh, she would be easy, he gloried. "Enjoy your stay then." "I thank you for this opportunity. We promise not to impose." Was she so righteous? Or was it a ruse? One thing was certain; her timidity would not sit right with him. What did Carlisle see in her to want her as a friend, as he claimed? "Why not?! Carlisle does it as much as he can. My Castle is open to all that choose to adhere to my rules." And all who can bear to survive my tease. He added wordlessly. Again, she bowed. "Then I must thank you for your hospitality." His humourous side was greatly appeased. He tittered. "A sweet talker, won't you agree, Carlisle?" but a timid one. She would bore him soon. "A great hostess you must be Lady Beth." And indeed, he
Brand attempted another parry, anticipating Alexander's attack from the left, but his brother's cunning and expertise in swordsmanship proved to be a formidable challenge. Instead of following the expected trajectory, Alexander swiftly changed tactics, manoeuvring to Brand's right side. Caught off guard, Brand left himself vulnerable, providing Alexander with an opening and he took advantage. With a perfect move, Alexander swung and his blade made contact, grazing Brand's upper arm and drawing blood. Brand let out a yell of pain, instinctively retracting and clutching his wounded arm. "God dammit, you bastard!" Alexander let his sword drop to his side. "Watch your words, you speak to your king." It was ironic how he was being called a bastard by Brand. "I speak to my brother." His eyes narrowed with an intense glare. "Who happens to be your king." Then, "Raise your sword." He commanded, raising his, ready to fight again. Brand flexed his shoulders, stealing a brief glance at his
As they walked past the wall outside, flanked by verdant bushes, Alexander's gaze fell upon the two ladies awaiting the one whose help had been rejected. In a fleeting moment, his attention was fixated on the golden-haired figure, Guinevere, as beautiful as her name. Unlike her sister and cousin, she possessed a distinct allure that piqued his curiosity and she possessed no semblance to them.Observing her, he noted the way her eyes darted down when they bowed. Alexander stared on until they met his gaze, and impulsively, he smiled at her, continuing on his way. Whatever it was about her, he would find out. Brand walked ahead of him, still clutching his arm.Alexander didn't bother to look back at the fair lady, but for certain he knew, if Guinevere had approached him, offering to tend to his wound, he would not have rebuffed her assistance.***Gwen and Lucy lingered by the wall outside, waiting patiently for Beth's return. The tournament had ended, with the King emerging the victor,
"What do you know of weapons?" Lucy, always a pragmatist, interjected with a chuckle. "Gwen, what do we know of weapons?" Gwen bristled slightly at Lucy's skepticism, her desire to prove herself simmering beneath the surface. "I may not be a master swordsman," she replied evenly, "but I know talent when I see it." And she knew about swords. They were a form of protection. A companion to defence. A carrier of safety. With a sword in hand, she could protect and defend herself. And if need be, she could cause harm to all who frightened her, chasing them afar off and seeing that herself a secret her family was never again brought to humiliation. With a sword, and the knowledge of usage, she could protect herself, and her family, Gwen thought Lucy almost tripped, but caught herself in time. "What about the Duke?" She asked, stealing a sly glance at Beth who was trailing behind them, deep in thoughts. Whatever her reason for asking such a question was thwarted. Beth was greatly caught u
Running his other hand over the head of the chair, he calmly said. "I do not care whatever lies between the de Nocrosses and the Cossingtons, but I don't appreciate you bringing your personal family issues into my home." Carlisle turned and walked to the window. What was it about windows that always called to him? Alexander wondered. Once or twice, he had stood with him and the same things remained outside; people and more people. "I would not stand for it, Carlisle." He said, loud enough to be heard, low enough to command immersion.Turned from him, Carlisle said. "There are no issues between us.""No?" Alexander stood upright. "Not even the fact that you delayed your marriage to his sister and brought another woman along as your guest?" Carlisle's eyes remained out the window, refusing to respond to him. He pressed on. "Not even that?""There are no issues between us." Carlisle reiterated.The doors opened and the servants came in, walking in rolls, bringing along different dishes t
The walk to the dining hall felt akin to a march towards the guillotine for Gwen. Each step weighed heavily, without purpose or enthusiasm. Had the invitation to dinner not come from the Duke and if it was not a dinner with the King, Gwen would have refused outrightly. The prospect of sharing the same space as Lord Cossington filled her with dread, yet she had no choice. It was now beyond her and she would have to endure it.As soon as the servant who had informed them of the prepared table exited the room to wait outside, Beth had turned to Gwen, urging her to refuse the invitation if she felt unable to attend. She offered to excuse Gwen by feigning illness on her behalf. However, Gwen had hesitated, partly because she did not want to cause her sister any unnecessary worries and partly to avoid rudeness towards the Duke of Carlisle and the King of her country.Slowly, she trailed behind Beth and Lucy, as they followed closely behind the servant. The hall was a great distance from the
"But that will place me below Sir Georgestons." The same lord who had spoken before pointed out."Lord of Waichester, here there are no ranks, only men of like mind gathered for a meal," the King declared, his tone taking on a more relaxing edge. "While I might have chosen another seat, I am particularly partial to this one." His demeanour softened as he added, "Now, please, take your seat, and let us enjoy our dinner together. The food is growing cold."As everyone found and settled into their seats, wearing expressions of forced solemnity, Gwen slowly approached the table, searching like the others for her name card. When she finally found it, she was dismayed. Her name card was at the far end of the table, greatly removed from her sister and cousin, and positioned directly across from the king.Why had she been placed so far from her relatives? How would she survive the evening without their support and reassurance? Slowly, she walked to her assigned seat and carefully planted hers
"Our fathers were once close friends," Lord Cossington began, his voice measured. "But our families' relationship has since soured."A wave of relief washed over Gwen and unintentionally, she released a breath of air, her erratic heart momentarily calming down. He did not move to disgrace her. She hastily grabbed her cup and emptied its contents in one gulp. When she set it down, the minister seated beside her kindly refilled it. She bowed slightly, thanking him. He gave her a slow smile and she quickly looked away, feeling a pang of discomfort."I see." remarked the King, his attention still focused on his meal. "It's a pity about your families falling out." He continued to saw away at the meat on his plate. "Have you truly let go of any lingering feelings?"Gwen froze."Lingering feelings? There are no lingering feelings, Your Majesty." Lord Cossington replied tersely."Good," the King mumbled around a mouthful of food. His eyes went to Lord Cossington. "I would hate an altercation