i. Anantapodotos

Arthur first spotted them when he was walking towards the kitchen for a late night snack.

His King pushing the Jack against the kitchen table, hungrily kissing him as the Jack wrapped his legs around the King's waist, hands mussing up the golden brown hair. The smacking wet sound of lips crashing against each other in a heated passionate kiss.

Arthur felt his heart stop as he witnessed the scene played out in front of him from behind the kitchen door. He cupped his hands around his mouth to prevent him from making a sound, eyes wide in disbelief. Hunger forgotten, Arthur ran back to his chambers, where he kneeled on the floor beside his bed breathing raggedly, convincing himself that this was all a nightmare and nothing more. Arthur woke up the next morning with a pair of cramped legs and a crick in his neck for sleeping on the floor with his head leaning against the bed.

First came denial.

He denied everything. Telling himself again and again that everything was just fake. That he was just being paranoid. That he was just hallucinating.

Surely Alfred loved Arthur. They were married for Hands sake! The King would always love his Queen.

Wouldn't he?

But Arthur noticed the signs. How King Alfred would give longing looks towards Jack Yao when Arthur pretended to not look. How Alfred's voice would be at a gentler tune while talking to Yao. How their touch would linger on each other. The shy glances Yao would give him and tender looks returned to him. The cuddle sessions they have when they were out of public eye. Walking side by side, brushing against each other. He saw them all.

And yet he denied it all. Convinced himself that those were nothing but platonic gestures.

It was when Arthur spotted the King giving the Jack a loving peck on the lips in the library had he finally come to his senses and let the horrible truth slap him in the face.

He once fled into his room again. His sanctuary.

Nononononononono

His mind repeated the words over and over again like a mantra. This couldn't be happening. He was Queen Arthur Kirkland of House Kirkland! And his husband was King Alfred F. Jones! Arthur loved Alfred! Arthur loved him; he was his Queen, ready to rule beside him, to be his lover, faithful till the end. Till Death Do Us part wasn't it? That was in the vows. Arthur loved his king fully, and would never think twice of loving another.

But does Alfred love him?

The question rang in his mind and it was as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped onto him.

Alfred never initiated kisses since they were married. His bed was always cold, never having an occupant other than Arthur. Alfred never gave him hugs by the waist. Alfred never loved him.

"Alfred never loved me," Arthur whispered softly to himself, feeling his heart clench up and his food threatening to make its way up his throat. Fists clenched and eyes wide with shock, Arthur chocked out a sob.

For the first time since he was crowned Queen, Arthur wept.

He wept and wept, shedding tears of sorrow. Not even his faeries could stop him from weeping. He cried till his eyes had no more tears to spare, till his handkerchief was soaked from salty tears, his silken sleeves were decorated with streaks of tears stains, head pounding and throat sore. It was only then he fell asleep from exhaustion and heartbreak.

Then came anger.

Arthur could feel his heart harden after three days of complete isolation. How dare they? How dare they do this to him? Why him? What did he ever do to deserve this treatment? He had always prided himself to be just and fair, a gentlemen.

What did Yao have and he didn't?

He would snap at everyone, directing his anger towards his maids and advisors. He would sneer at the Jack and growl at the King, acting like a feral cat with his claws out, ready to attack. He got into more than one argument with royalty, but never once did he call out his husbands' infidelity. He knew better than to ruin his husbands 'Golden Boy' reputation in front of the kingdom.

The Queen would hide in his garden, his beautiful garden. He had gotten so bitter even his faeries had left him alone, afraid of provoking him, leaving him alone to release his anger by ripping out weeds in his garden, fuming in silence.

He hated how they would look into each other's eyes, absorbed in their own world. How Alfred had this lovesick look whenever Yao wasn't around. How Alfred never called him the way he would call Yao. How his bed would always be cold and empty. How the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach never went away.

He hated them all. Hated them till the depths of hell. He wanted them gone. Gone from his sight. But the rational side of him would tell that killing them wasn't possible for the balance of the country will be disrupted if one of the three royals were killed or forcibly removed from power.

Ripping up weeds wasn't enough for Arthur, so he took back up archery, spending hours just shooting at trees and targets made ready in the arena. His accuracy improved vastly and he was still unsatisfied. Once, Arthur had gotten so mad after a row with the King, he hid in the arena, mounted his arrow and summoned his magic from the depths of himself.

"What's wrong with you lately Arthur?! You're acting bitchier each day! You can't just snap at the advisors for stating their opinions! And stop shooting down my suggestions and treating me like an idiot! " Alfred raged at Arthur.

"There's nothing wrong with me. Someone had to put them in their place, and you are the one who is the problem! You are and idiot! You and your stupid suggestions! It's a wonder that you became King!" Arthur snarled at the King, baring his teeth.

"Can't you be more like Yao?! At least he deals with affairs better than you." Alfred snapped back.

He aimed and his arrow glowed brightly in blue, tendrils of blue light curled around his arm and bow.

Can't you be more like Yao?!

With a loud roar, he released the string and shot the arrow towards a tree. The tree burst into flames, illuminating the night sky.

Arthur fell onto his knees, exhaustion creeping up his bones from the use of magic. He gazed at the burning tree, a lone tear sliding down his cheek.

Why me?

Then Arthur started to bargain.

After realising his workings Arthur sobered up, slapping himself and berating himself. You're a Queen! Act like one! He cleaned up the mess and apologised to the faeries, promising to replant another tree for compensation.

He controlled his temper and returned to his normal self, stiff upper lip and all.

But it didn't stop him from hoping, trying to gain his husband's love. Maybe Arthur should have been nicer to Alfred. Maybe it was just a phase. Maybe all Arthur had to do was to spend more time with the King.

Every night Arthur would kneel beside his bed, hand clasps together as he prayed to Hand. Just one chance, one chance for Arthur to prove it to Alfred that he loved him. He prayed, please Hand, please please make this work.

He prayed for a miracle, even when the obvious reality was staring at his face, Arthur refused to accept it.

But after weeks of unanswered prayers Arthur spiraled down to depression. Cold and dark depression.

At day he would carry out his duties responsibly, like a proper Queen he was trained to be.

But as night fell, his shoulders would slump down, back curved and his head would droop down. His lips would turn downwards, not that it was facing upwards in the first place, Arthur hardly smiled. His body would grow heavy, leaving him exhausted, mentally and physically.

He wouldn't eat with the other royals, always ordering his food to be sent to his chambers, where he would flush them down the toilet, not having the appetite to even take a bite. His faeries had lectured him, but he paid no heed. Can't they just understand? He didn't have the appetite.

Everyday was torture to him, he didn't have the energy to walk, to do anything, all he wanted was to stay in his room. There was no emotion in his words, his eyes had turned a shade darker, and his body was numb. Arthur felt like a walking ghost. It was harder to focus on his work; his pains were increasing, back, head, muscles, everywhere.

There was so many sleepless nights Arthur had faced that he started to have eyes bags. Only with the aid of alcohol could help him drift off to sleep, either that it was crying himself until exhaustion took over. The former was less painful but it led to hangovers in the morning, so Arthur had to forgo the luxury and endure the sleepless nights. Arthur had to use magic to mask his eye bags and pale face; a Queen has to maintain their complexion and carry themselves after all.

It was scary how loneliness and depression felt good and bad at the same time. There were times he just wanted to talk to no one, but then there were times where he felt suffocated being alone. It was as if there were walls of darkness surrounding him, trapped in a medium where he can't breathe and he would gasp for air and plead for someone to pull him out of this dilemma.

Arthur had considered suicide once or twice, but always manage squash it down, no, his country needed him. Spades needed him. If he was gone, the kingdom would succumb to chaos and Arthur would not be so selfish to do that. He would live on, for the kingdom. For Spades.

But at what cost?

All he wanted was to sleep and never wake up. It was like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you are relieved. Arthur woke up to a nightmare.

It took him about three months before he reached the final stage of acceptance.

It wasn't easy, he had to admit. He was grateful for the faeries for the herbs and spending time with him, always there to lend an ear.

He had spent less time with Alfred and Yao, distancing himself to heal, spending more time with the faeries in the garden. Spending time with those who he cherished and loved. Doing things he enjoyed like embroidery.

He would take long walks if he was starting to feel down. Started to eat more and finally managed to sleep without the aid of alcohol. Told himself that he was not at fault. There was nothing wrong with him or anything that he needed to fix.

He accepted that Alfred had never loved him the way he loved Yao. Accepted the fact that relationships between Kings and Jacks were not rare, it had been recorded down on history. Arthur's marriage to Alfred was just a political tradition, nothing more. They were just acquaintances.

It took him three long painful months before he could accept the relationship between Alfred and Yao. Accept the fact that he would never have his love returned by Alfred. He told himself, if he truly loved Alfred, he would have to learn to let him go. He was happy for them, happy that they were able to find love.

But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt for Arthur. To see his beloved love another.

However Arthur would not give up. He would continue to live, and hope. Hope for another chance at love. Hope that one day someone would love him the way Alfred loves Yao and vice versa.

All Arthur could do now, was to hope.

Those wondering when Gilbert would show up, I'm sorry to say that it would be quite long before he makes an appearance, I plan to write about Arthurs failed relationships before Gilbert finally shows.

I hope I did not portray depression incorrectly. If I did and offended anyone, please do message me. I'll change it.

This fic would be my first time in experimenting with different pairings of Arthur. Heh. And I would be eternally grateful if you guys would give some feedback! ( ◞･౪･)3

Thank you for taking time to read!(*＾▽＾)／