K-Ojousama, Ipseran, Milady, Yumi Tsubato, Anon007, Moonlight's Shadow Warrior (and Friend!), Lillilpnillilip, mofalle, ncalkins, RasalynnLynx, starryclimes, Zenna95, akira-nox, 91RedRoses, yoailover4lyfe, SaraBarns, woodbyne and Suzume Bachii Taichi, thank you!
A special thank you to Moonlight's Shadow Warrior for recommending this to a friend, and a huge, wonderfully warm welcome to that friend; thank you for finding me funny enough to read! Though humour may be in deficit these next few chapters, I swear it shall return!
It's 0:15, and I stayed up just to post this today. Yay for consistency.
Guess what happens next chapter. Go on. Guess.
"Wait," Matthew said slowly, "If His Majesty is your father then that would make you-?"
"Alfred." With every word, the Celtic prince flinched, "Fredric. Johannes. Kirkland. Southern Wolf. Eagle of Albion. Tamer of Beasts. Duke of Montana. Lord of fife York. Crown Prince and Heir to the Throne. What the blood hell do you think you're doing?"
"Yeah," Alfred said hoarsely, tearing his apologetic eyes from Matthew and standing to bow formally to his father, "Your Majesty, my King and Father, I," he paused, swallowing and staring at the floor. It was now or never, and if he didn't say it now, Matthew might never forgive him, "I offer my most profuse and sincere apologies for not informing you earlier of my betrothal to His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Matthew of Gaul."
There was a protracted pause as Arthur processed his son's words.
"Alfred, lad," the Celtic prince felt his stomach sink, "Would you care to say that again?" He was being given a chance to rethink his words. He could see a muscle twitching in his father's jaw. Straightening, Alfred shoved his chin out defiantly,
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier that Mattie and I have decided to get married, but you would not believe the time we had getting here. Why are you here, anyway?" When in doubt, drop all formality and hope that he works into such a froth that he has to calm down and think before deciding what to do.
"What am I doing-? I'm only having the imperial army march the length and breadth of this and every other kingdom that will let me; looking for you!" Arthur was beside himself. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Francis and gave a courtly bow, "Begging your indulgence, Your Majesty, but there are matters that my son and I must discuss in private."
"You needn't beg, Arthur," Francis said, eyes levelled coolly at Matthew, who was still kneeling on the floor, completely shell-shocked. Of all the things he had prepared himself for, this was not one of them.
With a curt nod, the king of Albion swept out of the room, holding the door open for the prince, "Come, Alfred." The words were bitten out, carefully at a reasonable volume.
Once the door closed, the Gaulish king turned to his own son and Matthew sighed, climbing carefully to his feet, wincing slightly. "Papa," he sighed, "Prithee, I would demand truth; have you lain with the King?"
"Ah bon, Matthieu?" Francis sighed, ignoring the question, "The Celt prince? Did you mean a war to start?"
"My own father has bedded the house of Kirkland before I, the betrothed, hast yet chanced to," he groaned, guessing what the evasion meant.
"Two moons gone and you have not yet bedded him? You have lost your touch. Mon fils, what were you thinking?" Francis sighed, "To wed a man you can have no heirs, and the line cannot continue. And to thieve Albion of its heir in one fell swoop? By what ill humour are you visited?"
"I respected his wishes! I knew him neither as prince nor heir until but a moment ago," the prince protested, "But if that is your concern, then will a strong allegiance with Albion be truly so remise? The conflict between our borders could be settled with a lesser loss of life."
"And what of the Bonnefoy line? Would you take a mistress, or would your Celt be your mistress?" Matthew's mouth pressed into a hard line.
"Père, I wish you would not speak so of my intended. He will be nothing so shameful as my mistress, and I will not suffer him to be second in my affections," the prince said stiffly.
"Do not play-"
"Absolutely not!" the roar came from the other side of the door and was unmistakably Arthur's, "I will not allow it!"
"You married a Gaul, why can't I?" That was definitely Alfred, and Matthew bit his lip, longing to stand by the Celt's side, even if it was only to offer his hand to hold.
"Don't you dare bring your mother into this! That was completely different!" If it was possible for Arthur to get louder and angrier with every word, then it was happening. If it wasn't, then it just seemed that way.
"How? Because Matthew's a man? That's not fair!" Alfred's already-loud voice, too, seemed to reach new heights of rage.
"Your mother was an expatriate from Bordeaux, not the heir to the entire fucking kingdom, Alfred! Think of your country!"
"A marriage to Mattie would mean an alliance and no more wars over land! How is that not thinking of my country?" Francis gave Matthew a look as though to say, 'See? He wants you for your power.' Matthew answered with the most venomous glare he could muster.
"A marriage into the Bonnefoy family would mean that when you inherit the country, your lands are forfeit to him! Would you really hand over an empire that has stood for a thousand years for a crush?" Arthur shrieked, seeming to have come to the crux of his argument. Francis perked up, this thought obviously not having occurred to him; he looked to his son, about to encourage him to go for it when he saw the stony expression on the prince's face. He'd seen Matthew upset, sad and angry, but the look of absolute loathing that was forming on his face was new and frightening.
"I don't care!" Alfred's voice rang clear as a bell through the barrier between them, "I love him, dad! I love him! I'll cede the throne! I'll abdicate! Let Amelia rule, you know she wants to!" As soon as those words were spoken, the expression dropped straight off Matthew's face, replaced by a sickeningly hopeful smile, and the King felt his stomach drop. This was not going to be an easy separation.
"No! I refuse to let you throw your life away for a leg over with some barbarian whore!" both of the Gauls winced at that remark.
"You hypocrite!" Alfred screamed, his voice ripping through octaves in his anger, "I saw you getting all buddy-buddy with King Francis! 'You needn't beg, Arthur~'," he mocked. An almighty crack echoed from the other side of the closed door and Matthew felt his heart stop.
Arthur's words were much quieter now, but they were still loud in the silence, "This may not be our home, Alfred, but I am still your father, and you will not speak to me like that."
The door creaked open and a stiff-shouldered Arthur ushered his son back into the throne room. Alfred's head was bowed, but it was pretty obvious that one cheek was a glowing pink. Without a word to either of the kings, Matthew marched forward, tugging the Celt away from his father and into a hug,
"Will you be alright?" he whispered, stroking Alfred's hair soothingly. The Celt nodded into his shoulder while the Gaul glared daggers at Arthur. It was just as well that he knew better than to insult foreign dignitaries (particularly from a kingdom as powerful as Albion) because there were no words for the seething hatred he felt for the Celtic king in that moment.
Ignoring their fathers' presence, Matthew tipped Alfred's face up. The blue-eyed prince's jaw was stiff, but there was a quiver in his lip.
"I'm sorry, Mattie, I tried," he sighed, a defeated air about him.
"I know you did, mon amour," he soothed, the backs of his fingers brushing Alfred's sore cheek, pale skin contrasting horribly. Giving his father a dark look, the prince of Albion threw his arms around Matthew's neck and kissed him solidly on the lips, tongue demanding entrance. The Gaul's surprised mouth opened without offering resistance, sinking joyfully into the kiss.
Arthur grabbed at his son's shoulder, only to be swatted away by an otherwise-occupied Alfred.
"We are leaving immediately," the Celtic King ground out. Reluctantly, the princes' lips parted but they remained in each other's arms.
"The day wearies, Your Majesty," Francis said lightly, a careful look in his eyes, "T'would be unseemly of me to let such honoured guests as yourselves travel in darkness. Prithee, bide the night within my walls."
"Kind though your offer is, Your Majesty, we should be going," Arthur's smile was token at best. He hadn't missed the double entendre.
"I insist," Francis' smile could have killed a heard of stampeding wildebeest.
And who was a king to argue with that?
~====o)0(o====~
Matthew sat on his bed, wondering whether or not it was acceptable to cry before Alfred was dragged from the palace. He couldn't bear the thought of not waking up to golden-blond hair tickling his nose. The Celt's proximity had become something he loved. He loved the way he laughed, the way he smiled, the way he poked the Gaul into laughing and smiling, too. He loved the way Alfred cuddled up to his chest.
Oh well. Now was the time for slumber, and in the morning he would wake up without his beloved Celt, just like he would until the crown fell to him.
Sighing, Matthew ran a hand over his chest, feeling the marks that the dragon had left on him. He had been willing to die to save the other prince. And just like that, he was alive again. Was the loss of love his price to pay for a second chance at life? It wasn't worth it.
A soft knock at his chamber door broke his concentration, "Père, I have no wish to speak with you," he called, not even bothering to look at the door. He didn't need to be told that it was 'better this way'.
"Good thing I'm not your father," Alfred said, sticking his head around the door with a wan smile, "Otherwise what I'm intending to do would be all sorts of wrong."