The entirety of the Kingdom of Wessex turned out at Westminster for the wedding. Horns blew and dogs barked among the neighing of horses, the rumbling of cart wheels as supplies were brought in, all drown out by the voices of the people who crowded the hall, the church, the yards, and all the buildings in and around the town. A few nobles from the surrounding kingdoms were there to represent their kings, as King Burgred of Mercia was absent, as well as King Edmund of East Anglia. In the prominent center of the commotion was the royal family of Wessex. King Aethelbert, a widower, Prince Aethelred, the groom, and Lord Alfred, who would gladly have been any other place in the world other than the middle of a celebration.

"My king sends his apologies," said an ambassador for the eastern kingdom. "King Edmund is quite distracted with the raids in the north of our lands."

"Has the devil sent them to torment us?" asked the ambassador for Mercia.

Alfred sat next to the fire and plucked at the straw on the ground while the men spoke. He did not have to look up to know who was talking; he knew the ever patient and steady voice of the king, or the impatient, petulant interruptions of Aethelred. Alfred knew the voice of his own bodyguard, Wulfheard, who was the oldest of them all, and Alfred imagined he was the oldest man on the island. He listened to the voices of the lords of the Wessex manors, some of the higher clergy, and of course his cousin, Theobald.

Alfred looked around the hall, which sat downhill from the church, where the ceremony was scheduled to be held the following day. No one seemed concerned with the particulars of the wedding, the groom least of all. Aethelred was interjecting again, and Alfred could hear his opinion being disregarded by the other men. Aethelred was noticing, too, and it angered him. He got up and walked away from them to procure a drink and some solitude. Alfred watched Gwald follow him and stand in the shadows with the jaded prince where they could be by themselves, agreeing with one another.

Alfred saw Wihtred among the crowds of faces outside of the king's firelight. The round-faced cleric gave him a slight nod of the head, and Alfred turned back to the fire, where the Lord of Canterbury was urging the king to join Burgred and go to war, all the while the ambassador from East Anglia was begging for everyone to keep a cool head and not provoke the invaders further.

"They are not Christian!" insisted the Lord of Canterbury, a white-haired man. "They deserve no mercy from Wessex!"

"In your haste," insisted the man from East Anglia, "you will anger the damn devils and they will fall full force upon OUR kingdom. They have devoured Northumbria, who is to say they will not do the same to the rest of us?"

"They will not succeed in Mercia!" Insisted Mercia's representative.

"Nor in Wessex!" shouted Lord Westminster.

King Aethelbert listened to them all, as he tended to do, not saying a word but letting them all make their arguments. It was a long night. Alfred left the main fire when hours had seen nothing resolved, and men grew angrier with one another. As he stepped away, the warmth he had soaked in started to dissipate, and he thanked God for the comfort of warm fires. Wihtred met him and wrapped him in a blanket, trapping some of the fire heat and holding it close to him. They spoke not a word to one another but went to the altar at the back of the house where they tried to use their prayers to drown out the talk of war and death.

Alfred thought that his brothers should spend some time in prayer as well, as they both had larger things to worry about than he. Aethelbert had a kingdom to run, and Aethelred would be a husband by the following day. Alfred reflected on the comparative simplicity of his own life, and he thanked God that he was born the last son, the son that his father had promised to the church. Alfred took solace in knowing that he would not have to carry their burdens.

Sleep came late that night, and the morning came early. Alfred woke with the rest of the house and prepared for the ceremony by washing his hair and donning the new clothes that had been prepared for him. He was unaware that he was growing into a dashing young man and viewed himself as awkward. Alfred had never spoken to any of the women of the court, nor did he have any interest in women at all, but as he walked up the hill and into the church, past crowds of common and well-dressed people, he could feel eyes upon him. It did not occur to him that he was the last royal bachelor in the kingdom.

Alfred and his brothers looked like their father; chestnut hair, thick eyebrows and deep-set, blue eyes. They were all tall and athletic. They were dressed in the finest clothes as they took their places by Bishop Aethelheard at the altar. Alfred looked over the sea of lords, ladies, and clergy as the choir began low and haunting. Alfred bowed his head and let the music wash over him.

The choir came to a pause, and all in the room grew quiet. Alfred lifted his eyes to watch the entrance of the lady, Wulfrida, who would marry his brother. She was the thirteen-year-old daughter of a former lord of Northumbria, who had been displaced by the pagans. Alfred did not know the Northumbrian lord, but he heard the tales of how the lord had fought to avenge King Aelle the First after the pagans murdered him, and he had unsuccessfully tried to kidnap young King Edbert from their grasp, but in the end he failed and was left landless when Edbert was killed. The lord had no money to pay his men, whose lands were also taken, so he came to King Aethelbert with nothing to offer but his young daughter. Aethelbert had accepted and awarded the lord a modest vill in Westminster with the promise that his original lands would one day be restored.

King Aethelbert stood up at the beginning of the ceremony to bless the union, and every eye in the church was trained on him. He gave his blessing loud and clear, and the audience cheered for him, and the wedding commenced. Alfred watched him and his heart swelled with pride to be the brother of such a kind and worthy king. Alfred knew that the feeling he had for his brother was love, unwavering to the point of worshipful. He did not feel the same way about the brother who was taking his vows. Towards Aethelred, Alfred felt responsibility, as if he were not the youngest of them.

The bishop said the prayers, and he bound the hands of the bride and groom together. She was a child, and he not much older. Alfred worried that his brother would fidget, because he was never good at standing still, but Aethelred followed through with dignity to the completion of the ceremony, and the wedding party led everyone out of the church and down the hill where an ox was roasting over an open pit.

Alfred found Wihtred as soon as he could and disentangled himself from the nobility. He sighed a breath of relief, but his path was impeded by a pretty girl who was a few years older than he.

"Pardon, my lord." She curtsied.

Alfred walked around her and hurried away without a word.

"May God bless the union of the prince and his lady," she called after him.

Alfred did not want to be rude, but he did not know how he was supposed to behave around women. He stopped walking and looked over his shoulder at her.

She continued, flushed with encouragement. "It was a beautiful ceremony, was it not?"

Alfred could not understand why she was speaking to him. This had never happened before. "Yes, my lady," he answered.

She was visibly thrilled by his response. "My lord, I must not brag, but I made a custard pie for the celebration. I would be honored if I could bring some to you."

Alfred's brows knitted together in confusion. "I suppose …"

"You will like it, I am sure. I know that you like custard, my lord. I know a great deal about you."

Alfred was more uncomfortable than he had ever been before, and the horror was mirrored on his face, but she did not notice.

"I probably should not say, but … many of the ladies say that you are the brother that one would want as a husband."

Alfred froze in fear. "I – uh …"

He looked for Wihtred, who was hiding a smile behind his sleeve. Alfred scowled at the cleric, then looked back at the girl.

"You are the daughter of the Lord of Westminster," Alfred informed her. "Your name is Acca."

A sparkle danced in her eyes. "You are so intelligent, my lord."

"You must have more interesting people to talk to."

"No. I do not."

"Do you have ladies who tend you?" Alfred looked around, noticing for the first time that she seemed alone, a strange condition for a noblewoman.

"They are there." She motioned to a group of women who were studiously trying not to stare at them.

"They should be with you," Alfred pointed out. "Your father would not like you speaking privately with me."

"Everyone knows how pious you are, my lord. You are sweet, like … a kitten."

"A kitten?" Alfred was only growing more confused by the conversation.

"And the good bishop is here to chaperone us," Acca pointed out, smiling at Wihtred.

Wihtred blushed and looked away. Alfred glared at him; he was being no help at all.

"I must speak with my brother," Alfred decided, and turned to walk away.

Acca was undeterred and walked beside him. "You see these decorations?" she pointed to the hall all around them. "It does not usually look like this. Usually Westminster is drab. I like the celebration, and all of the people."

"Hm."

"There is your brother, the king, but is that the brother with whom you wished to speak? There is the groom over there. His lady is wearing such a lovely dress. The ceremony was lovely, and the flowers were lovely, do you agree?"

"Hm." Alfred looked back to Wihtred, who was following a few steps behind, giggling. Alfred shook his head.

"You do NOT agree?" Acca was excited. "What did you think could have been done better? The flowers? The dress? Is it the food for the celebration?"

Alfred had lost track of what she was saying, but she earnestly wanted him to answer.

"If you will excuse me," Alfred took a few more steps, but she still followed.

"I told my mother that there should be colorful table covers, but she said that all of the blankets were needed to cover people when they slept. I told her that we should be weaving twice as much. We have two looms that only need repairs and we could have made twice as many. The weaving ladies have gone to milking and churning because the looms have been in disrepair for so long. Do you not think that the looms should be repaired? They are quite necessary, are they not? Do you not agree, my lord?"

Alfred stopped walking, took a deep breath, and then turned to her. "I really must speak with my brother."

"Which one?"

"The king."

"He is there," she patiently reminded him. "Speaking to my father! Let us go."

She took him to the king and the lord of the house, and her father beamed with joy when he saw them walking together. Aethelbert raised an eyebrow, but it was only for show, as he could read the defeated slump of Alfred's shoulders, and the tittering of Bishop Wihtred just behind him.

"Should we start planning another wedding, your highness?" grinned the Lord of Winchester.

"Not just yet, Lord Aelhear," Aethelbert said, one corner of his mouth turning up in an amused smile. "My brother is on his way to Rochester after the wedding celebration."

"Rochester, your highness?" Alfred was surprised.

"To study at the monastery there," Aethelbert told him. "Our father saw in you a propensity for study, that is why he took you to Rome, and sent you to the School of Charlemagne. He was prophetic to see it in you when you were so young."

"Thank you, your highness." Alfred could have breathed a sigh of relief if Acca was not still so close to him. The thought of being forced to marry someone like her made him feel exhausted.

The wedding celebration lasted a month, and there was no place in the vill that Alfred could go where Acca could not track him. Much to Alfred's dismay, other young ladies made excuses to speak to him as well. Alfred was desperate to make them stop, and finally found a moment to speak to the king alone, but for Theobald.

"Your highness," Alfred said.

"What is it, Alfred?" Aethelbert asked, his nose red from drink, and his eyes pink from lack of sleep.

"I must ask you to say something to your lords about their daughters."

Aethelbert and Theobald laughed out loud.

"I had noticed that you have a following," Aethelbert said, trying to control his laughter. "Indeed, the fathers of the girls have noticed, too."

"They should speak with their daughters." Alfred had a serious problem, and he could not understand why the adults found it funny.

"Their fathers have spoken to me," Aethelbert told him. "Several have offered marriage contracts. What do you think of that?"

Alfred flushed. "That would be impossible."

Aethelbert and Theobald burst out laughing, slapping Alfred on the back, and then retreated to a fire where drinking and merriment continued. Alfred got no relief until they were mounted up to leave Westminster altogether. For Alfred, the city and its church had meant peace and prayer, but after Aethelred's wedding, he was not sure that he would ever be able to think of it the same way.

The royal caravan, with the addition of Lady Wulfrida and her attendants, began their parade out of town, and the women of the court shouted and threw flowers, but Alfred looked directly ahead, relieved.

As they left the city, Aethelred and his wife, and a large group of the party, broke off and started west. Alfred watched them go as he jogged his horse to catch up with Aethelbert.

"Your highness," Alfred called as his horse came alongside the king's. "Why are we going different ways?"

"Because Aethelred is a man now, and he needs to take the time to learn his new role. You are going to study, Alfred. You have the makings of a wise and learned man. I know that our father thought so."

"I do not remember our father," Alfred admitted. The truth of it plagued him, and he hated himself for forgetting. He was sure that a more dutiful son would never forget.

"You were young when last you saw him. He was proud of you, Alfred."

Alfred nodded and looked straight forward as they led their horses up the road to Southwark, and then turned east along the Thames.