Talons of a King
IX: Education
"You sound like an old crow being mauled to death," Malik declared, slamming his hand down on the desk of his study. The young queen stared up at him with a scowl of frustration on her face. "Use the back of your throat to pronounce the kah, Malikaty. It is not difficult, now, again!"
"Not difficult for you, perhaps," she snapped, tired of his perfectionism. Lessons had been well under way for well over a month, and Malik had a problem with letting her progress if her pronunciation was not "good enough". And that was in speaking alone. She did not want to know how hellish reading and writing would be. "This bloody language … what kind of sadistic bastard came up with it?"
"It is the language of your husband, his ancestors and mine, and will be the language of your children," Malik replied, haughty and indignant.
The word 'children' struck a nerve that she had been attempting to ignore since the marriage announcement, but this was not an argument to be had with Malik. "It is not like I do this on purpose."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Yes, I am aware, but your stubbornness makes it that much more strenuous to do my job."
"I am doing my best," she retorted.
"Your best is not good enough. Again!"
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"William, I have received rather alarming news, recently." John lounged on his throne, legs crossed, regarding his advisor with a raised eyebrow.
"Sire?" His face remained neutral, calm as ever and unchanging. John could not see deceit in the man's eyes, but he supposed such a man knew how to hide his emotions unlike any other. Alexandros' words rung in the king's ears. It all made sense. William, the grandson of Mad King Henry V – why not attempt treason? He probably thought his blood gave him legitimacy, the traitorous bastard.
John dispelled his wandering thoughts to return to the topic. "I have received considerable amounts of intelligence that you have been associating with those Godless heathens out in the east, that your daughter was the one on that bloody ship."
"All lies, surely you have realized this," William replied. He scanned the man's face for any type of falter that would give him away, but he saw nothing. "Your Grace, I have dedicated my life to serving you and your family. Maria is at home, where she belongs."
"Hm, yes," John agreed, grunting. "But had history gone a bit differently, it would be me devoting my life to you, would it not?"
William folded his arms behind his back. "The fall of my house was inevitable, my great-grandfather was a–!"
"Oh for the love of God, William – do not recite that tired old speech to me, I have heard it at least a thousand times since the day I met you." The fact that the house of Thorpe was not utterly annihilated once the Mad King was overthrown was entirely due to the good graces of John's grandfather. Henry V's young son renounced his father, proved himself in war and was awarded a title. It was a happy ending for an otherwise doomed bloodline.
"Then what am I to reply, sire? You accuse me of treason."
"And rightly so, Sir William." Alexandros had an annoying tendency to be able to slip in and out of rooms without anyone noticing. Eunuchs were such strange creatures. "Your activities outside of this palace have been most curious."
"Alexandros," William acknowledged, eyes narrowing. "Somehow I knew you would be behind such a baseless claim."
"Baseless?" The man repeated, his voice shooting up an octave. "Sir William, information is my trade, my bread and butter, the very air in which I breathe; why would I sully my reputation if I was not sure that you were a traitorous snake?"
Despite the fact that treason and association with a sworn enemy was being thrown in his face, William did not falter.
"My only son laid down his life for the protection of this realm against the very same people you accuse me of plotting with," he said, his hands tightening into fists. "So do not insult me with such accusations unless you can produce solid proof."
Alexandros nodded. "Of course, Sir William. There is the very real chance that I am wrong in these claims and that I will gladly hang for the misinformation of my most beloved king. If you simply bring your daughter to court, all will be well."
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"Can I take a break?" she muttered, fingering the wood of the table the both of them sat on, her hand against her cheek in utter boredom. They had been at this for well over three hours, and if she had to learn more of the folly of the Arabic language, she would take a blade to her skull.
"No," Malik replied, flat and absolute. "Now, we need to work on your grammar."
"Fuck the grammar."
His eyebrows shot up at the sheer audacity of that statement. "Excuse me?"
"I said fuck the grammar!" she exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the table and shooting to her feet. Eyes darting to the exit, a daring little plan popped into her head and began to whisper evilly to her brain. Rebellion sounded so very tempting. With a prompt turn on her heel, she fled the room in malevolent glee.
"Maria!" Perhaps it was immature; perhaps it was extraordinarily childish to run away from lessons like an impatient princess from a manic, one-armed governess, but she had absolutely no further desire to 'learn' that day. It was fortunate for her that Masyaf had such an extensive and large castle – rampant with hiding places. It also made things much easier that Arabs allowed women to wear flow-y trouser-like garments. Escape became that much easier, even more so when she discarded her slippers.
She dashed down the long stone corridors, snickering to herself as she heard the rapid footsteps of Malik behind her. He was fast, she gave him that, but she was faster and infinitely more motivated to escape his education. Maria enjoyed the fact that the castle had many more windows than her manor did.
Taking a sharp turn left, she ended up bolting past Altaïr, of all people, letting out a small laugh in response to his look of confusion. She flew up a flight of winding, spiral stairs and ended up in a small study where Malik's little brother, Kadar, was looking over a leather-bound volume. He turned around, alarmed, regarding the breathless queen with bewilderment in his blue doe eyes.
She bit her lip, frustrated because she lacked the knowledge to be able to tell him what was going on. Impatient footsteps behind her sent an electrical shock up her spine, and she rushed over to the thick curtains and frantically pressed her lips to her mouth, shaking her head.
"Silence," she told him in Arabic, quite certain of that word, as Malik would often bark it to her. She pulled the red fabric over her body, back against the cold stone wall, clamping a hand over her mouth so as not to give herself away.
Soon enough, Malik barged into the study. She listened intently, smirking with impish delight upon the realization that she'd tired him out, judging by his harsh breathing.
Peeking from behind the corner of the curtain, she watched as Malik demanded her location out of his little brother. There was a hopelessly long pause before the young boy shrugged, feigning complete innocence. Grumbling profanities under his breath, he stalked out of the room. The noise faded away, and she emerged from her hiding place, triumphant in her escape from the beast.
She thanked Kadar in the best Arabic she could muster, retreating from the study and making her way down the spiral staircase.
"Devilish woman!" Maria almost jumped out of her skin as Malik emerged from what seemed to be nowhere, although he did not see her. Careful not to make a sound, she ran off in the opposite direction. She flew down the main stairs of the castle, reaching the front, and watched as the soldiers looked upon her with a bemused curiosity, as if she was an exotic animal escaped from her restraints.
She did not blame them. It was not every day that the wife of their king ran out of the castle, barefoot and short of breath. Many of them bowed their heads out of respect, but others regarded her as if she'd recently escaped a madhouse.
"Malikaty, are you not supposed to be studying right now?" Nasreen strolled forward from the village. "And … why are you not wearing shoes?"
Maria shrugged. "Lessons ended early."
"Horse shit, this is Malik we speak of. There is no 'early' with that man. What have you done this time?"
"Abandoned her studies like a child." Malik appeared, a look of disdain and clear irritation plastered on his face. The game was up.
"Did she?"
"I pursued her through the castle like a criminal," he informed Nasreen, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
"Am I not your queen?" Maria demanded, hands on her hips. "If I do not wish to study, I will damn well do as I please!"
He sighed with impatience. "These lessons are essential to your survival here, Malikaty. If there is no language, there is no basis for understanding our culture."
"I am going mad, Malik! Cooped up in that castle all day, studying day in and day out!"
"She has a point," Nasreen murmured, looking away to avoid Malik's sharp dagger gaze.
"Fine, you want some fresh air," Malik said with an exasperated wave of his arm. "I wish to know what you have in mind, my Queen."
Maria grinned.
XXX
Altaïr stared at his wife and his advisor standing beside her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief at the request being given to him.
"She wants to what?" he demanded.
"Go hunting, Maliki," Malik explained, clearing his throat in embarrassment. He obviously did not agree with the idea, either.
Had the heat finally driven her insane? Hunting? "Tell her that she is out of her mind and that my answer is no."
Malik did not even have the chance to translate before she stepped forward, big blue eyes boring into his own with something of a pleading expression. She had definitely swallowed her pride to ask this request.
"It is not … uh … dangerous," she assured him in comically accented, elementary Arabic. "Hunting is what I know since child – safe!" Dear God, was his English this bad? He resisted the urge to laugh, it would only spark her temper and her language ability would drop even lower.
"What are you teaching her, Malik?" Altaïr remarked, smirking. "Have you even gone over grammar yet?"
"I have," he retorted, his wounded pride only making the situation more humorous to Altaïr. "She is simply trying to familiarize herself with it."
"And run away from it," Altaïr remarked, glancing at her with the clear memory of her running past him with childish delight. He didn't understand what had come over her at the time, but now it all made sense.
"You saw that?" Malik muttered, exhaling sharply through his teeth.
"Indeed. It was quite a spectacle." He'd considered pursuing her and finding out what had prompted this marathon through the castle, but he decided against it when he heard Malik's motherly bellowing down the hall. A little exercise ought to do the man good, he thought.
"I handled it."
"I see." Better not to rile Malik up any further, it was already embarrassing enough that he lost a race with an upstart Christian woman. "Well, suggest to her that she familiarize herself with the language before she tries to do so with the animals. Hunting is for men, I do not want my bride breaking a leg chasing down a rabbit."
"You know as well as I that she is not going to budge, Maliki," he advised the young king. "Perhaps it would be more … educational to allow her to learn this on her own."
"Unlike you, I am unwilling to put her – my wife – in harm's way for the sake of education."
"You can accompany her," he qualified.
Altaïr considered it. It would indeed humble her a bit, and he supposed a day away from all the training and the planning would be beneficial. "Very well. We shall leave at dawn – inform her I won't be leaving any later."
Malik did his job, and she made clear eye contact with Altaïr for the first time in what he assumed to be weeks.
"Choukran," she said, a smile stretching across her lips. It was the first time she had ever smiled at him without murderous intent laced throughout it, and he found himself staring at her in slight awe. It made her beautiful. He found himself reaching out to cup the smooth, pale skin of her cheek.
"It is my pleasure," he replied, wondering if she could understand it. He observed as her jaw hardened, her body making the slightest cringe away from the palm of his hand out of what seemed to be pure instinct. It came to his notice that this woman didn't trust. Not immediately, anyway. Someone had instructed her to behave with him, to not slap his hand away, as he could so clearly see upon her face.
Such a fiery one. It made everything so much more fun.
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A/N: Junior year is a pain, but I promise to be regular about these chapter updates, everyone. I figured I needed to do this before Mass Effect 3 came out, because then I would just be glued to the TV for a long, long time and never get this bloody chapter out. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and don't worry, I haven't lost my motivation for this story.
