The Catbird Seat
Chapter 1
"Are you alright?" Arthur murmured over his tea cup as he peered through his eyelashes at his king.
Alfred's eyes flew from…wherever; Arthur didn't know. As if he'd just been reminded of where he was, Alfred's shoulders jolted, and his lips tugged into a wistful smile. His soft words drifted past his lips and clung on the breeze, "M'fine."
Arthur's tea cup clinked as he set it down. In comparison to Alfred's tone, Arthur's words fell between them like bricks from the sky. "You seem…different." Too different. Too unfamiliar. Too damn sad to be the King of Spades.
Alfred bit the corner of his bottom lip in thought. "Guess I'm growing up?" The remark tripped its way into the conversation as if Alfred made up the excuse on the spot.
"A little late to be growing up."
Alfred let out a brief laugh. "Yeah, better than never."
"Mm."
Alfred's eyes drifted to meet Arthur's. "I just… I never stopped. To think about…" His gaze took in the private garden around them. "How pretty it is. How I like it. Being with you at breakfast."
"You're…elated about having breakfast with me?"
"'Course."
Arthur's finger nudged against his tea spoon as his worry ate at him. "You're going through an existential crisis over breakfast?"
"Existential crisis?" A ghost of the Alfred from the week before dared to shine through as he laughed. "Who's having an existential crisis?"
Arthur's eyebrows tugged together. "Well, I assumed you were. You're never so serious."
"I'm serious sometimes. When it matters."
Arthur's jaw locked as he eyed Alfred. "What's been keeping you so serious for the past week? You're clearly upset about something. I wish you'd—…tell me."
"Yeah," Alfred murmured. "Hey, Queenie—" He flashed Arthur a bright—fake, Arthur thought—smile, "—can you use your superpower clock and tell me what time it is? I gotta go think up a plan to save the world from danger, y'know."
Arthur pointedly frowned. Alfred knew what the Queen's Heirloom was. He was just trying to get a rise out of him, no doubt. "Of course," Arthur spoke in a low tone, annoyed by Alfred's prodding—however unconvincing it was. Arthur reached into his pocket and gently pulled out the Queen's Heirloom. "It's 9:46. Better hurry, love. The world'll be destroyed without you." He eased his clock back in his pocket as Alfred let out a curse.
"M'late." Alfred gulped down the rest of his tea before he jumped up and pressed a kiss to Arthur's head. "Thanks, babe. I'll see ya tonight." He tore off back into their bedroom.
Arthur called after him, "You're not eating lunch with me?"
Alfred called back (however faintly), "Too busy!" The bedroom door swung shut, and Alfred's footsteps disappeared.
Arthur watched their bedroom drapes shiver in the breeze. He brought his tea cup to his lips and sipped from it. The morning breeze caressed the garden, and the wind chimes sang—Arthur could've sworn he heard them giggle. But they were chimes. Just chimes. Just. Bored. Chimes. Hanging.
Arthur's eyes followed the wind from his cup and saucer to his drapes and to whatever was inside his bedroom. He set his cup on his saucer with a clink and stood. He gingerly walked up the stone walkway, cautious of the atmosphere around him.
His incessant worry pooled at the back of his mind and tainted his vision as he entered the bedroom. As he turned his head, he felt as if there was a presence just out of reach—just out of his sight—until his eyes fell on Alfred's desk. Arthur's steps echoed against the pristine floor as he approached Alfred's desk. As if it were possessed, Arthur's hand fell on a drawer handle and yanked the drawer open. A deck of cards smacked against the drawer wall, and the unnatural feeling fled from his hand.
Of his own will (and embarrassment), Arthur picked up the deck and turned it over in his hands, examining it. "What's Alfred got something like this for?" He mumbled to himself. His worry subsided if only slightly. Arthur let out a groan. He already tried asking Alfred what was bothering him. Not only had Alfred ignored the question, but he left Arthur devoured by his troublesome thoughts. Arthur let out a laugh which he chose to see as mirthful rather than nervous.
"Alright," he sighed despite the tightness in his smile. "What could it hurt? It's a children's…fortune game. Clock's just a game." Arthur repeated the phrase to steady himself as took a seat in Alfred's chair and spilled the cards out of the card sleeve. "Just a game," he mumbled, "just a game."
The cards lay against Alfred's desk, some facing up and some facing down.
"Well…better do it correctly." Arthur took his Heirloom out of his pocket and held it. His thumb nuzzled against the clock face as Arthur drew a hint of Spades magic from it. The clock's glow appeared like a low and gentle hum—like the beginning to a child's lullaby—before Arthur set the Heirloom down on the desk. Arthur picked up all the cards and placed them all in the correct starting order, sliding each card to fill the previous card's precise boundaries. "All face north," he murmured and eyed the card backs, checking the decorative pattern for any cards facing the wrong way. For a solid two minutes, Arthur shuffled: four overhands, a riffle, four overhands, a riffle, four overhands, a riffle, four overhands, and a final riffle. He dropped the deck on the desk and stared at it.
His eyes drifted to his Heirloom and then landed on the deck again. He drew in a calm breath and released it. "If tensions rise," he whispered…to the deck, feeling less embarrassed than he had at the start of the ritual, "to cause unavoidable war… I want to know. What is the worst that could happen?"
Arthur picked up the deck and set the first card down at one o'clock, the second at two o'clock, and so on until he'd reached the thirteenth card. He set it in the center of the Clock and proceeded to set the rest of the cards down in their respective positions, the thirteenth card always landing in the center. He stared down at his Clock, and his stomach churned.
"I don't have to do this," he reminded himself. He let out a tense sigh, and his index finger tapped the center stack of four cards. He squeezed his eyes closed, cursed to himself, and picked up the first card. "I can still stop this…" Arthur's eyes cautiously opened, and he let out a breath of relief. "The four of spades." If a war came, at least one of their cities would make it out of it—unharmed or not, a city would live. He slipped it under four o'clock and continued the fortune-telling game.
Arthur pulled a card from the four o'clock pile, and his lips pulled into a tight frown. The King of Clubs, dead. Arthur would guess that it may be Alfred's doing—hypothetically. Arthur slipped the King of Clubs under the thirteenth pile and continued.
As the seconds passed, Arthur's lips pulled into more and more relieved smiles—only interrupted by a wince once he'd pulled the King of Hearts. But not all hope was lost. He continued pulling cards. All the queens would live. All the jacks would live. All the capitals would live. At least seven cities in each kingdom would make it through this. Arthur was feeling better about it, most assuredly—until he pulled the King of Spades. Arthur stared at the card and then at all the progress and saved cities. Alfred… Alfred would be proud. Right? Right… Right…
Arthur's jaw clenched as he stared down the card he held. In seconds, he forcibly wiped the image from his mind and slipped the King of Spades beneath the thirteenth pile with the other two kings. It was just a game. He continued. Once he pulled the King of Diamonds, Arthur tucked him under the thirteenth pile. Arthur stared at his Clock.
Everyone will live, and every king will die. It was a perfect Clock with every face showing. A perfect fortune.
Arthur's eyes drifted towards his Heirloom, and it snapped closed, its job done. He gingerly placed it in his pocket as he eyed the Clock before him. This Path to Peace would be the best for everyone—the least bloody path Cards has ever seen, and, as per tradition, every king would fall.
Even Alfred.