Arthur watched the car drive off through the gate and shut the front door. He winced, the fresh wound throbbing painfully.

"Why are you so cranky?" Toby asked. "Did you run out of rum or are you still recovering from a hangover, drunkard?"

Kirkland flashed him a look of discontent.

"Mr. Braginski, help my son find something proper to wear for this evening." He ordered. "Mr. Jones, come with me to my quarters."

"Urm, y-yes sir." Alfred stuttered, following behind him.

Once they got into the privacy of his room, Arthur, collapsed clutching his injury. He reached into his jacket, retrieving a half full flask. Loudly, he gulped down the contents, then threw the empty container aside.

"My words, they were harsh speaking to that peon. My great grandfather and myself are one in the same. I did many things I regret. Sorry, if I said something that offended you." He apologized. "They must have some suspicion I was involved, otherwise, why would those goons be knocking at my door? I have to keep up my facade to keep their notion at bay."

"Why did you try to kill the queen?" Questioned Jones.

"That is none of your concern."

"If you want me to keep quiet, then you'll tell me."

"Mr. Jones." Arthur said, in a warning tone. "I think you forget who owns you." His expression was dark.

"Pfft, I think, I own you at this point."

"Oh, is that so?" Kirkland stood, closing the gap between them. He smelled of strong liquor. "Are you aware of what encases your heart? A single phone call, Alfred, and you will be dragged away to be exposed of."

"Do it. I already died a long time ago." Alfred hissed.

"What if I had Braginski taken in your stead?" Arthur said, rapturously. "I would even go as far as to have you watch him die. His grave would be dug by your own two hands and the cretin's corpse will be your companion as you spend the rest of eternity in a coffin buried under fifteen tons of concrete." He touched Alfred's lapel lightly with the tips of his fingers. "You cannot wear this tonight, it has a stain. I have a new suit that I purchased for you in my closet."

"I should have let you die on the porch."

"Alfred, don't look at me like that. I do not want to burden you any farther than I already have. I see now it was a mistake to reveal anything to you." Arthur exhaled and went to his closet, pulling out the newly made outfit. "Disrobe and put this on."

He refused, glaring. Kirkland chuckled at him, slicking back his hair as he took staggered steps towards Alfred.

"I said, undress." Arthur tore open Alfred's shirt forcefully, appetence in his gaze. "You are truly captivating."

"What goes on here?" Ivan interrupted. He was in the door frame, a smile on his face. "Intriguing."

Alfred cleared his throat.

"He's been drinking." He blushed, grappling Arthur by the wrists. The suit crumbled onto the ground.

"Damn you Braginski." Sneered Kirkland.

"Calm down and sit, before you hurt yourself." Grumbled Alfred, helping the man to the bed. "How are you suppose to get through the night like this?"

"I am fine!"

"Da. He his fine. Let him drink more, he is much more entertaining this way." Chuckled Braginski. "I prefer, in place of his usual boring demeanor."

"He won't tell me why he was trying to kill the Queen." Alfred spoke before Arthur had the chance to form a rebuttal.

"You told him?" Hissed Arthur.

"He did. That is because he belongs to me." Said Ivan.

With discomposure, Jones' face reddened.

"I-I don't belong to anyone."

"I know the reason." Braginski hummed. "The Queen stole your research from you. This, and she set fire to your home, killing your dear wife. What was her name? ALICE?" Said with a depraved grin.

Kirkland went rigid, his eyes dilating.

Ivan continued. "She died. Perhaps in your arms? Was she one of us? Did her flesh burn too far to heal? Did she beg for her life to end? How long did you deny her wish, before yo-"

"IVAN, STOP!" Demanded Alfred.

Arthur hid his face, trembling on the mattress and all went quiet.