CHAPTER 1
A/N – Hello everyone! So…this just happened. A few nights ago I read the 'Monarchy of spades' by Butterfish and Haku and I was so sad and upset that my hero complex kicked in and this is the result. But, like I said in the summary, this is not cardverse. It has a few elements of chess in it, for some reason black and white appeal to me more than colors ;) Also, there will be a few (or more than a few) fight scenes in this story, because I'm a fan of action even more than I am a fan of romance. There will be some funny crack too, because I think my characters have potential. So… to cut this short, enjoy my new tale and let me know what you think ;)
Deep blue orbs swept warily over the black forest unfolding in the distance, beyond the castle walls, to the North. To the West, the sinuous river made its way through golden fields and green meadows, relatively prosperous villages and small towns dotted along its path to the sea. Now, at the peak of spring, his kingdom was in full bloom, like nature itself. But this year - the nineteenth of his short life - spring had not only brought buds on the branches of trees and fresh blades of grass upon the ground, no. Spring had brought about the threat of war.
Alfred eventually moved away from the tall, narrow window of his bedroom and plopped down on the four poster bed, the only so-called luxury his otherwise austere chambers held. His body ached after the hard day of training, but fearful thoughts refused to let him to rest. The Fourth of the Black Kingdoms had been lucky to enjoy many long years of peace until now, but their luck had run out at last, it seemed. But, as things were, it was bound to happen. The White Kingdoms of the South were eating up more and more of the northern lands and with the ineffective fight the other Black Kingdoms had put up (not to mention that the Whites had formed a league, while the Black northerners stood stubbornly alone), the young prince had known it would be a matter of time until their border was reached.
But that was hardly the worst thing of all, after all Alfred was strong and valiant and perhaps enough men could be gathered and trained for war. No, the worst thing of all was the much dreaded tradition. He'd studied it, but failed to comprehend it altogether. Each of the Black and White Kingdoms was required to have a King and a Queen – that made sense. The Queen could be a woman or a man - that was slightly strange, but the baffling part was that, while the King had rather 'domestic' duties, such as dealing with the administrative affairs of his land while surrounded by his Council, advisors and whatnot, matters of war and of the army were always and without exception to be handled by the Queen. The Queens themselves had to be skilled fighters and cunning strategists in that purpose. And just happened to be a huge problem.
The current King and Queen of the Fourth Black Kingdom, Alfred's parents, were quite old now. Having lived through nothing but peace, King Thorne had not bothered much with the tradition – in fact hardly bothered at all – he'd just married the woman he loved, dismissing the fact that she was hardly the kind of 'cutthroat wench' required for the job. Now, many years later, Alfred too had plenty of girls swooning over him, but knitting needles were about the only dangerous items they could wield. Thus, he was without a Queen and, on the day of his nineteenth birthday, a letter had come announcing that the White league led by King Francis had declared war upon their land.
Alfred for one thought that for a King – who was supposed to be the most powerful man in their land – to hide behind their Queen was cowardly. Well, not that he had anyone to hide behind. So, as the future King, he'd taken it upon himself to organize their defense, to the best of his ability, which was actually more than that of his father, mother and all their advisors combined. But sadly, not everyone was as open-minded about the issue as he was – people feared, even the soldiers were terrified, all believing that in the absence of a proper Queen nothing but doom awaited them. They all beseeched him to wed without delay and even malicious rumors had started about the young prince being picky and showing stubbornness in the matter. It was a complete mystery to the young prince why everyone assumed that finding a Queen – a suitable one – was such an easy thing and somehow at the tips of his fingers. It had ceased to matter now though, there was no more time. The challenge had been made and if they lost there was going to be no need for Alfred to find a Queen, as the Whites would engulf their lands and he would not be King. There would only be King Francis and his Queen.
Today. It was already today, he thought, eyes trailing to the sky slowly lighting up in the East, the long shadows of night chased away by dawn. Tormented by dark thoughts, Alfred had not gotten any sleep. Brooding, the prince left the bed which had provided so little comfort in the past hours and peered past the glass of the tall, narrow tower window. There they were already, as the letter had promised – a sea of white tents, with banners flying high in the wind stretched beyond the barren field outside the walls of their small capital. King Francis was here to finally get his hands on what he'd asserted it was rightfully his.
With a gloomy countenance, the young prince barely heeded his mother's soothing words as the servants clad him in black steel mail and plates. Then he dropped on one knee for her to place a tender kiss upon his forehead and for his father to give him his blessing. His parents were probably the only ones who weren't blaming him for their Kingdom's current predicament.
Hateful glares burned in the back of his head as the prince and his handful of nobles rode hastily through the streets of their city to meet up with the rest of the army Alfred had been able to assemble and which was waiting just below the walls, prepared for battle. People had gathered, but no one was cheering, no one looked hopeful, it was as if the small group was riding to their own funeral.
A lasting scowl was carved into the bespectacled blond's features by the time the small group left the gates behind. His gaze slipped past the wary faces of the men, knowing there would be nothing there but the same scornful, accusatory expression which was starting to make him sick to the core. Instead, blue eyes looked up towards the ominous, cloud laden sky, in a final plea.
"Oh Gods, I beg of you, do not be cruel to me and my people! Please help me defeat King Francis, please! I will do anything, anything! Take my life if you must, but do not let my people be enslaved!" he murmured as he dismounted and passed the reins to a foot soldier.
"Milord, it is time."
Yao Wang, the King's oldest advisor, sighed heavily and motioned towards a plain strip of land which was to serve as the 'center of the chessboard' for the upcoming confrontation. Alfred wished with all his heart that along with the ancient, crippling traditions of their continent, all these absurd rituals which served to make a war appear as a game be dropped too. War wasn't a game – it was suffering, death and destruction. Why did no one see that?
The prince and his high-ranking nobles started walking towards the indicated spot while the advisor led the way, his magic stick at the ready. Yao's long hair, which had been raven black once, but now streaked with grey, was swept back in a tight tail at the base of his neck. He may have been an old man, but this was his first war. It was pretty much everyone's first war, the blue-eyed blond though morosely, resisting the urge to turn around and look over the hunched frames of his men, bowed in hopelessness.
Suddenly Yao stopped and slammed his stick into the ground. There was something like a flash of bright light and the mud at their feet was instantly turned into smooth, checkered marble slabs outlined by silvery edges which covered the whole field, forming a gigantic chessboard. Alfred lifted his gaze from the polished, gleaming surface to see the White King Francis and his party advancing to their designed spots.
"Milord, you must take your places," the advisor instructed, guiding the young prince and the others to stand aligned, such that they formed an almost complete chess formation. Almost, because the black square to the blond's left was empty. His countenance darkened some more upon seeing the glamorous Whites. The King, tall and graceful, with long golden locks appearing barely windswept and held back with a silk ribbon, was donning a white fur mantle over shiny white steel armor and a crown littered with diamonds sat upon his fair head. To his right stood his Queen, a short, lean boy with blond hair falling just below his chin, an odd curl sticking out from under the tiny golden crown he wore. He appeared fragile, even clad in white steel gleaming under the soft pristine white velvet, tasseled cloak hugging him like a flurry of snow, but there was an icy, deadly glare in his large purple eyes which couldn't have been more ominous.
"Why on earth must we play this chess thing, Advisor Wang?" Alfred hissed angrily. "It's a stupid game and the King is a shit piece! It makes no sense! Shouldn't the King be the most powerful piece?"
Yao shook his head discreetly and opened his mouth to answer, but gave up seeing the White King taking a step forward in front of his own ranks, appearing to assess their opponents thoughtfully for a moment. But then his face broke into a broad grin and he clasped his white velvet gloved hands together, appearing very pleased.
"So then, it is true what I have heard!" he said, eyes trained on the prince. "There is no Black Queen in the Fourth Kingdom!"
Alfred gritted his teeth and his steel gloved hand flew to the handle of his sword, clutching it angrily. Of course, the bastard couldn't just get it over with, he'd try to intimidate him. The young prince took a deep breath and hoped today would be the day the old beliefs fell, together with this arrogant monarch. He walked forth in turn, facing the other determinedly.
"I am Prince Alfred of the Fourth Black Kingdom! Today I stand before you unafraid and what you have or have not heard is of no interest to me!"
A gasp of feigned surprise left the White King's lips and he held out his hand, motioning for the boy at his side to join him. "Oh, how rude of us, we have forgotten to make a proper introduction! I am King Francis of the White Kingdoms and this is my Queen, Matthieu. Back to the matter of Queens though, I must say, none of the others we've confronted so far were in any way worthy of their crowns, but this is truly unheard of! My dear Prince Alfred, you may be young and unknowing of the ways of this world and a Queen may be good or bad, but to show up lacking one is quite similar to showing up without pants on!"
At his words, his entire court burst into laughter, the unrestrained mirth spreading like wildfire backwards, all the way to the ranks of his awaiting soldiers. The other blond's cheeks burned with humiliation and his sword shot up from its sheath, being swiftly pointed towards the enemy King.
"At your age you should know that a pair of silk trousers will not win a battle, mighty King Francis, and at least I'm not hiding behind a little boy, you fucking coward!"
King Francis snorted disdainfully, as if the young prince's words were not worth a reply, but instead his Queen pushed past him graciously, a light smile adorning delicate features, but the purple eyes narrowed menacingly. "You may have some guts, fair Prince Alfred, and you may have some strength about you, but I see no great army behind you as you so boldly speak. All the terror I have prepared to unleash upon your lot, you will suffer alone, because you don't have a Queen!" he stated, the final words laced with a poisonous chuckle.
And now the White Queen will slaughter us, Alfred thought, his mouth pursing into a grimace as he thought of the state of his men. They lacked in numbers and despite his efforts… well… their preparation left a lot to be desired. But then a strange thing happened, he saw some odd twirls of black smoke slipping across the marble, hurrying in his direction. His hand with the sword wavered and the bespectacled blond lowered it, beginning to panic. What the hell? His gaze shot back to the White monarchs, but only saw a confused scowl upon their faces too as they watched, expectant.
"Bollocks! Of course he has a Queen."
Alfred blinked, startled by the unfamiliar voice, and turned around brusquely, facing the previously empty Queen square. Only now it wasn't empty anymore. It was occupied by a boy around his own age, only a tad shorter than the prince, slender and with the loveliest face he'd ever seen. There was something almost elfish about his pale, delicate features, defined by strong eyebrows and large gem-like green eyes, shadowed by unruly blonde bangs. The stranger was wrapped in a heavy black cloak, but Alfred saw the black steel gleaming through the folds.
The prince stepped back on his own square, resisting the impulse to scratch his head. "Um…"
"Did I miss anything, my King?" the stranger asked in a soft whisper, leaning towards him.
The bespectacled blond snorted. "Uh, I don't know, a lot of stuff, like… our wedding for example… whatever you name is? And I'm not yet a Ki-"
"That's just semantics," the smaller blond interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "And it's Arthur," he clarified, smiling suddenly. "I apologize for my tardiness!" he added, pressing a hand on his chest as he faced the White King and Queen.
"O…kay," the prince muttered to himself, brow still furrowed in confusion. "Arthur…"
But then the green-eyed blond turned around, scowling, appearing to be pondering on something as he glanced back towards the rows of black soldiers. "Hmm… Oh, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, and with a grave expression lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers. Alfred watched dumbstruck as their army's numbers increased significantly. Now the rows of black armors, both cavalry and infantry, with black banners held upright stretched past the city walls, all the way over to the edge of the forest in the distance. The new black soldiers wore closed helmets, adding to the sinister effect of their overall appearance. They looked like an army from Hell.
"Hey! All those soldiers were not there before!" Queen Matthieu pointed.
The newly arrived Black Queen titled his head and sighed nonchalantly. "Irrelevant, they are here now."
"Excusez moi, but what exactly is going on?!" King Francis demanded.
"If you don't know what is going on, then what the hell are you doing here in the first place, frog?"
The White monarch's face fell a bit at the unexpected insult and he turned, his hand resting on his Queen's shoulder as he whispered something in the boy's ear. The other agreed. "Fine, we can see you are good with tricks. Everyone is good with tricks these days, it seems," he laughed coldly. "I have a suggestion that will avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Let's have our Queens decide the fate of this war in single combat." Queen Matthieu grinned. "Unless you're scared, of course…"
Prince Alfred sighed and turned around with a weary expression. "Look… um… Arthur, I am grateful for this trick of yours, but it looks like it's kind of failed, so-"
But the Black Queen wasn't paying him any attention, looking instead as if the challenge pleased him. A firm hand pushed the bespectacled blond aside and he stepped forward, a wide grin on his face. "It's alright, my King. I'll fight him."
"You'll fi-?"
Alfred's words were cut short when the stranger's hand reached up to cup his cheek. "Give me a kiss, my King," he asked, green eyes serious all the sudden, pleading even. Bewildered, the prince found himself having no choice but to lean in and press his lips onto the boy's. It was but brief, yet it left the taller blond breathless.
"Pfft… lovers," King Francis snorted disdainfully, as his Queen advanced and unclasped his cloak. The white velvet piled behind his frame as the blond drew out something resembling a walking stick. Except as soon as he twisted the handle, a gigantic scythe sprang out at the end of it, the broad, razor-sharp blade gleaming wickedly in the pale light.
"How distasteful!" Arthur declared, hand resting on his slender hip. "As befitting a frog like you!"
"Who is a frog?!" Queen Matthieu demanded angrily.
"You two," his opponent clarified, finger pointing at him and his King. "Big frog, little frog."
"By the Gods, you will pay for this, insolent fool!"
The black cloth slipped from the Black Queen's shoulders, revealing two sheaths hanging on the boy's back. Arthur drew out two twin swords and gave the two weapons an expert spin with a mere flick of his wrists. Tilting his head to the side playfully, his grin widened as his opponent lunged forward shouting. The scythe was forcefully swung in a broad motion, seeking to sweep him off his feet. But the green-eyed blond jumped up, performing a large tumble in the air and then landing gracefully on one knee behind the White Queen. Matthieu turned quickly and attempted a blow, the blades colliding and making sparkles fly as the metal clashed.
Alfred's heart pounded madly in his chest – every time the infernal scythe was swung, it elicited a horrible hiss as the blade pierced the air. He could barely watch, fearful for the stranger's fate. The Black Queen however seemed unfazed by the danger. He moved quickly, effortlessly, eventually forcing the broad blade to the ground and stepping on it, causing the White fighter to abandon his weapon. But the other Queen rapidly drew a sword of his own and they clashed again. This time Matthieu seemed to gain ground and a thin bloody gash appeared on Arthur's cheek. The green-eyed blond lost one of his swords and as the remaining blades collided and got momentarily stuck, fists began to be exchanged on the side.
"Advisor Wang, I feel like an idiot standing here and doing nothing!" Alfred hissed as his Queen appeared to waver a bit, but Yao shook his head. Tradition required him to stay out of the Queen's fight, he explained. At most, he could only take on King Francis himself. But obviously, the White monarch did not plan to fight…
But then the prince saw the White Queen suddenly kicked and sent flying across the chessboard, all the way back to the White ranks, where he remained motionless onto the marble. But Arthur too seemed to be staggering now, his chest visibly heaving even with the armor on and the prince, disregarding all protocol, rushed to his side and wrapped his arms around him, supporting his delicate frame against his chest.
"Matthieu, get up! Get up and fight!" King Francis hissed, hovering above his fallen Queen, but his expression was cold and disdainful. Right, Alfred realised, a King wasn't supposed to love his Queen and he wondered if the White King was by any chance going to slam his boot into the boy's side to nudge him awake. Arthur too saw this and he made a move to pull away, but the prince's arms held him in place.
"No, please stay," the bespectacled blond murmured, ignoring the hint of disbelief in the large green eyes looking up at him and continuing to hold the panting boy close.
In the meantime, several of the White courtiers had rushed to their Queen's side and were kneeling around him worried. "He breathes, sire!" one of them told King Francis hopeful, but the monarch only waved his hand dismissively, with a disgusted grimace. "Take him away." Then his white velvet gloved hand shot in the direction of his opponents.
"You may have won today, almost-king Alfred and almost-queen Arthur," he spat," but what you have is not meant to last! Soon enough, I will rejoice in your downfall!" Saying that, he wheeled around, his mantle twirling around him dramatically and motioned for his men to fall back.
"The Whites are retreating, Milord!" Yao Wang announced with obvious relief, but the prince paid him no attention. His eyes saw only the smaller blond in his arms, Arthur's tired smile and that incredible brightness in his emerald orbs. He smiled back, widely, and the nobles and the soldiers were already cheering wildly, so Alfred reached down for the boy's waist and held him up. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, they kissed again. This time things got slightly more heated, the Black Queen's slender fingers running shyly through the prince's blonde strands and caressing the back of his neck.
"Arthur… how could I ever thank you for what you did today?"
The green-eyed blond's smile faded and he gently pulled away from the prince. "You already have, my King. It's alright now, your kingdom is safe and… I must go."
Alfred blinked, uncomprehending. "Go? Go where? No, Arthur… please, stay here! W-with me…" he pleaded, trying to retain the boy's hand in his.
"I'm sorry, my King, that cannot be…" Just as he said the words and his head bowed in sadness, the Black Queen's frame melted away in a cloud of smoke.
To be continued
