"What's on the agenda for today, Yao?"

Yao waved off the pair without looking up from a pile of important papers overtaking the Royal Desk. "Go down to the labyrinth and get lost."

Alfred scrunched his eyebrows, giving his head a little shake, "Wait, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I'm too busy and not in the mood to get a headache from you two fighting over stupid things. Get it out before you start, and then come up to me later."

Arthur scoffed, but nudged Alfred away with a quiet, "Let's just go."

"Geez!" Alfred exclaimed once the door to the Royal Office shut, inwardly hoping Yao would hear him, "I thought Yao was supposed to be old and wise. What's up with the attitude?"

"He is old," Arthur mumbled as they went down a floor, "that is certain."

"Are we really going to the basement?"

"Uh, yes, we are! You still need to properly get through it! You haven't done that yet at least once."

"Do we really have to, though? Are we expecting bad guys to storm in here and come after us, and the only way out would be the freaking basement-maze we have?"

Arthur curled his nose, but surprisingly, kept his cool in a low, ominous voice, "You could be the perfect King, and some people would still want your head. Better safe than sorry, wouldn't you agree?"

That side-eye sent bumps up Alfred's arms. "I guess." It was a quiet walk to the basement door. He tried to lighten up, "Maybe we could have a party, and lead the guests down there, and they would get lost, and it'll be funny as we're like, 'Watch this!' and we run through the place like nothing."

Arthur quirked his eyebrows as a guard opened the door with a bow. "Well, it certainly wasn't funny on your end getting lost for the first time, was it?"

Alfred shut his mouth. He had stairs to focus on getting down, anyway. Dim, chilly basement air swathed his nostrils. Perfect for a dungeon. He glanced away from his old cell, keeping his chin up, although he couldn't help a flush of pride. If only imprisoned Alfred saw him now. "Try not to make ghost noises, you weirdo."

"Hmph!" It sounded like there was a smile in there. Arthur butted his knuckle to Alfred's chest. "You better let me go first. It's been a while. You can lead on the way back."

"Okay," Alfred agreed. "Don't go too fast."

Arthur spawned a mystic light from his upturned palm, coating the walls in an eerie glow.

"Does that hurt?"

"What?"

"Does it hurt when you...when you do that?" Alfred pointed to their light source, but quickly withdrew as his hand casted spooky shadows on the stone walls. "That magic stuff."

Almost amused, "No, Alfred, it doesn't hurt. I've been doing 'magic stuff' since I was a wee lad." A thoughtful hum, "Yes, I remember scaring the daylights out of the nannies the first time I took a teddy from my nursery shelf, all the while I stayed in my crib."

"Wow. Oh, wow." Alfred did not know what else to say, bewildered, but impressed on a level he did not quite grasp. "Moving stuff without touching it would have been convenient on the farm."

"Ah, but look where you got without all that." A hand squeezed Alfred's bicep. Alfred almost screamed from their shadows. "Tossing cow dung and hale bales around did something right."

In the cold-pressed halls of old enemies' demise, Alfred's heart soared over stone walls and into fresh air. That was the first time Arthur complimented him, completely out of the blue and without even needing a sword to his neck. Dungeon Alfred would totally be jealous. Great, Alfred need to act cool. "Yeah, I guess it did. Heh. Thanks." That should have been all, but his tongue flubbed, "You're not bad at all yourself."

"I know," Arthur coolly replied. "You've made this very well-known, plenty of times."

Oh, fudge. They weren't even fighting, and Alfred still got owned. Too long had passed for him to say anything. He glanced to Arthur lightly leading his arm, waiting for gloating, but that smirk said it all.

They passed a fist-sized divot in the wall. Cracks shot from its center, etching into the stone in every direction. Arthur stopped to run his fingertips over it. He made a fist, and lightly nudged the caved rock. "Does it hurt when you do that? Or do you feel power?"

Alfred decided to be honest. That usually had something good for him, "Usually, when I punch holes into stone, I'm panicking." He looked down and picked up a stray pebble from the floor. He held it between a forefinger and thumb, then pinched it to dust. "I guess it's cool if I think about it. I just...do it. I don't feel pain, or a surge of power." He gazed thoughtfully at the debris on his hand. "I could snap someone's arm like a toothpick. Nah, easier. That's what you're worried about, isn't it?"

Arthur took a deep breath, but his face kept still as he turned his head away. Nothing.

"I don't feel the need to," Alfred said. "If the time comes for me to have do that...well, it's just like you said about learning how to get through these halls. It might never happen, but if it does, it's better to go through it everyday than choosing not to do it and our laziness, or arrogance, whatever you call it, would be our end."

"It's a means of survival." Arthur swiveled back to him with a soft smile. "It's how we have lasted this long through the centuries."

Alfred blurted, "And will. For many more."

They gazed at each other, wide-eyed and breath catching. At least on Alfred's part. Arthur murmured, "That was a very Kingly thing to say."

Instead of coherent words, Alfred found himself leaning to be closer to those green eyes.

Arthur ducked his head, holding up a palm, and snickered, "I'm not going to snog you for saying something sweet."

"Oh." Alfred stiffly nodded, trying to regain control of his own body. Maybe this was what Arthur was saying about Kings going nuts. "You sure?"

Arthur gave him a long look, like Alfred would learn his lesson, before turning back to the creepy halls. They made it out fairly quickly. No ghost noises this time—probably because the Queen was leading. That usually kept him and his damn pride busy.

"All right," Arthur raised their shackle, and motioned back to the pit. "Your turn. Try not to get lost all night."

Alfred pretended to be too occupied gaping at the walls and turns of dying shrubbery. "Isn't this another maze?"

"More like a calming walk after all that scary-ary darkness. Why? You want to go into the gardens? It's nearing winter; it won't be much a sight."

"You don't go through here a lot?"

Arthur tsked as he was towed away from the staircase. "Not in the cold! That's more depressing than a cheer-up, don't you think?"

Alfred shrugged, "Why not?"

"You just don't want to go through the basement again."

"Yep."

They walked in contented silence in the Spadian fall, against bare shrubs and naked trees. Alfred knew the garden would be beautiful in warmer weather (he got a glimpse in its later life, after all), and hoped that they would see it together.

"What's over there?"

"A dead end."

"Oh. What about over there?"

"Another dead end."

"Wait, I think I see something."

"Alfred..."

"Never mind! It's just a statue. Ugh. Why's there a face sticking out of the bush like that? Who thought that was a good idea?"

"No idea." Arthur chuckled, short, but warming, "He's playing peek-a-boo."

Alfred had to smile. "Aw, come on." He tipped his head toward a clump of brambles. "Hey, I think I see something for real this time!"

"Do you now?" Despite the sarcasm, Arthur let himself be dragged along. "That's a tree, Alfred. It's one of the borders to the maze."

Getting irritated by the thicket, Alfred jabbed his heel into the mess. A satisfying series of crunches, but when he tried to pull his leg away, the brambles latched onto his trousers leg, not going down without a fight. "Oh! Ow, ow!"

"Now look what you gotten yourself into!"

"A little help, please?"

Sour look. Arthur lifted a palm to the twigs, and they slowly eased their clutch from Alfred's leg. "There. Try not to-"

Certainly not learning his lesson, Alfred dove into the mess as soon as it gave way.

"What are you-"

"Look!" Alfred effortlessly uprooted a dead bush, blinking as dirt poured from its roots, and tossed it aside. An overgrown path led from the main maze. They exchanged a mild look of surprise, and not even Arthur could resist the drive of curiosity. Walls of shrubbery led them to marble peeking from moss and decaying brush. They immediately reached to pull on the tangles of browned leaves and twigs. Alfred grabbed at a clump of moss from some sort of basin, and dropped it as a trickle of water started to flow from the woman posing on top of the structure. "It's a fountain!"

Arthur praised, "It still works? I never knew this was here. Strange, and I was born on these exact grounds."

Alfred gazed at the woman gazing back with green-dyed marble eyes as her hand shied into the basket of flowers, jewelry and feathers against her waist. One side of her mouth crept up the side of her face, and her eyebrows were quirked in a way that seemed suggestive. "She looks nice."

"Judging by her ornaments...I think that's Freya."

"Who?"

"The goddess of fertility and romance. Who doesn't know that?"

"Uh, me, I guess." Alfred made finger quotes, "Dad just said a quick prayer to 'The Gods' before we ate."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, glancing to Freya's basin. "I see."

Alfred pressed closer to see what he was staring at. Just water. Water that needed to be refreshed. Yuck. "So, goddess of romance, huh? Like, baby-making?"

Arthur closed his eyes to clear the slate of his mind. "If you must call it that. She is also a goddess of war and death. And sorcery. Not just sex."

"Yeah, okay," Alfred giggled. "You want to make an offering?"

"What, like clearing her shrine isn't enough for words?"

"Well, you got magic. You have plenty of fight in you, worrying about the death of the Kingdom. I think you need to acknowledge her lovely side."

Arthur crossed his arms, and announced loudly, "I think you need to acknowledge a fist in your face."

"Yep, there's the war in your eyes," Alfred muttered as he started to rummage through his pockets. Lint, string, and a candy wrapper. He pulled out something and put it on the edge of the basin, saying to the stone woman, "Sorry it ain't much." A pen. Alfred's favorite pen, to be exact.

Arthur correctly accused, "You took that from the Royal Office, didn't you? A pen?"

"Yep! This is the same pen I used to sign off my brother's becoming the Ace of Spades, and the same pen I used to practice cursive. And the same one I used to write that poem about your eyebrows."

"Wha—what poem?"

"Oh. I guess it never got to you."

Arthur put a weary hand over his forehead. "Just pray to the shrine already and let's go."

"Well, fine!" Alfred clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

Arthur copied, and with a snide remark, "Make sure your prayers are true. Being the goddess of war and all, I'm sure she wouldn't hesitate to smite you if you fib to her about where your heart lies."

"Are you saying that to me, Arthur, or are you talkin' to yourself?"

"Just pray already, would you?"

Alfred wanted some baked potatoes right now. With goat cheese. Mm, cheese. But that's what his stomach wanted. His heart, however, well, he already knew what his heart wanted. His heart did get him in trouble, after all. After being trampled so much, maybe he should stick with wanting to be a good King for his people. Yes, he wanted to help his people.

...but helping Arthur would be nice, too.

Alfred peeked around, getting a little hot under the collar from bringing all those thoughts to the front of his mind. Arthur wistfully gazed around the loose leaves, seemingly unfazed from the breeze tugging at the bow of ribbon hanging from his neck. Alfred straightened, putting on a timid smile as Arthur turned and gave a questioning raise of the brows. "I'm done."

"Let me guess—you wished for food, or to touch my arse."

Damn, he was too good.

Alfred tried to keep it from his face as they started to walk. "Freya wouldn't smite me either way, if that's the case."

Arthur let out a sharp noise from his face, retaining a dignified stride with his chin up despite his ears getting rosy. "Bothering a goddess over that sort of thing. Kings and Queens and peasants alike have thrown themselves at her mercy for healthy children, or for their crops to last through the cruel Spadian winter."

"That's why I bothered her for a small thing. To give her a break."

Arthur stopped to toss his head in Alfred's direction. "And what would that be?"

Goofy snark. Alfred trained his eyes on Arthur's face despite the chill running down his back. "I, uh...I just want you to let me kiss you."

Staring. Arthur glanced away, surprisingly without rolling his eyes. An odd scrunch found his cheeks as the wind dyed them pink, "How silly, to ask a goddess for that."

Alfred could not, and would not, stop gawking like some kind of madman. He was definitely going crazy. Already. Oh, crud, and he wasn't even a proper King yet. "Well..." He grunted, managing words, "unless you're answering..."

Arthur sucked in a loud breath, and unleashed it with a little snoot, like Alfred prayed for an extra kidney or two. "Fine."

"Wait, what?"

"For Freya. And only on the cheek."

Alfred gulped, wondering if he heard right. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" Ah, there was the obligatory eye-roll. Arthur shifted, lightly stamping a leg to the dirt as he pointed upwards, to his face. "For Freya."

"Y-yeah. For Freya." Alfred sprung a toothy grin, wanting to tuck his face into his jacket and hide in some of those bushes, but also wanting to squeal to the sky. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking a step closer. Another one. A twig crunched under his foot. Arthur did not step away. He lifted his chin, turning the side of his face toward Alfred. This was really happening. His eyelashes drooped, fluttering against his cheekbones. Gods...

Alfred should have prayed for this sight to be set in stone forever instead! He slowly let out a shaky exhale through the nose, because it was just a kiss. On the cheek, no less. No need to act like he was handing over a clump of dandelions to his childhood crush again. This was the Queen of Spades! Mouth to cheek. That's it. Wait, not too much mouth. Alfred stopped, maybe a step too far back, and craned his neck to press his lips to Arthur's cheek. His skin was cooler than expected, probably from the wind. Just a little smooch. On the face. Yes, it was. Alfred's eyes slid close as his shoulders released, easing as he breathed Arthur in. Roses, as always.

And he let go, eyes cracking open to behold Arthur curiously tipping his head, green gaze pivoting to his, so close.

Just a kiss on the cheek.

Why did it feel like life to Alfred's lungs?

"You all right?"

Alfred cleared his throat, trying not to pant like he ran a marathon. "Yeah!" Great, he sounded like he did run a marathon and got choked by the finish line. "You?"

Usually Arthur would turn away by now, scoffing and cursing life...or something. He furrowed those luxurious eyebrows, glancing between Alfred's mouth and his eyes with a hollow snort, "Much better than you seem to be holding up. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah!" Too pitched. Crud. "Never been better! Thanks."

"Right." Arthur gave him a final, almost stumped glance before turning to the garden.

Alfred glanced back to the statue, and put a hand to his face, smiling like the fool he was. Thanks, Freya.

~.~

"What? You two did not kill each other? And not a scratch on either of you. I shouldn't be surprised."

"Yao," Arthur warned. "When do you plan on dropping this childish façade?"

"When do you?"

"We haven't killed each other."

Yao almost smiled. Almost. "I see. Pardon my behavior, your highness. A taste of your own medicine is not the proper way to go. Time and patience seems to be it. That goes to you, Alfred."

Alfred ignored the comment to pretend he was spacing off. "What?"

Yao put his face in hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just...get over here. We have lots of paperwork to do before the cold sets in!"

~.~

The cold set in. Oil had been delivered. The Knights sported cozy fleece under their gear to rally against the ever-close Spadian winter. And Arthur had not smacked Alfred on the head in days! No, weeks!

"What is this?"

"They're roses."

"All over the bedroom, Alfred?"

"Ha, looks like it!"

It has been zero days since the Queen had smacked Alfred on the head.

"I know you did this! It's all over that...that face of yours! Where do you think we have money for out-of-season flowers?!"

"They weren't that much-"

Smack!

"Okay, so they were a bit pricey. I just wanted you to appreciate them!" Alfred dropped to his knees and Arthur immediately turned away to scowl at a wall. "It's going to be a long time until your roses bloom again, so..."

"So what?"

"So, here you go!"

Evil glare.

Cheeky smile. Alfred amped up the plea in his baby blues. "They're your favorite!"

Arthur grunted and snorted and turned away again to a dresser being consumed by pinks, whites, reds, growing just as rosy. "Yes, we both know that, don't we?" Alfred caressed a hand that hung at his side, gobbled up by the sight, and Arthur did not pull away. "They're lovely."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, but Yao and I have told you our winter budget does not have wiggle room for this sort of spending."

"No matter how much you like it?"

"No matter how much I like it." Arthur pointedly cleared his throat, and with a little tilt of the head, he turned his cheek to the air. "No desserts after breakfast for the next week."

That was just fine. Alfred still had dessert after dinner. He sprung to stand, and hovered closer, putting his lips where they belonged—right in the middle of Arthur's cheek. Well, he'd prefer to put himself anywhere and everywhere, but progress! Yao told him about 'time being the key.' He just wished he knew how much time. "Keep me in check, Arthur."

"I will."

But the way Arthur's ears and neck went a few shades redder than usual said Alfred didn't have to wait too long. The shackle, however, was still sturdy in place.

~.~

"Are you okay, Al?"

Alfred wanted dessert. The maids took their breakfast plates.

"Yeah! Why wouldn't I be? Do I not look okay?"

Matthew blinked like a dummy and shook his head like one, too. "N-no! You look fine. I was just wondering. Sheesh."

"Ha-ha, yeah, 'cause if I don't look fine, I guess you don't, either!"

Arthur groaned and put his face in hand. Yao kept reading grievance letters at the other end of the table.

"Yeah, sure," Matthew gave his eyes a toss around the room. "Right back at you." He jumped in his chair. Gave Yao a dirty look. The old man must have nicked him underneath the table. "Actually, I've been thinking."

Alfred tried not to pull a face. "You do that a lot." The maids set down a new round of teas. Arthur waved them away. No desserts. Alfred almost leaned over to peck his cheek, but Yao and Matthew were sitting right there.

"Whatever, Al. I wanted to tell you I came up with a new workout regimen after reading up on some history in the library."

Arthur swatted at a finger that made its way up to tickle the stubble along his jaw. Alfred grinned, and almost forgot to get some words out, "Why are you looking into history for that?" He lifted his arms to flex his old farmer muscles. "You should really look into these!" He grinned, putting an arm in front of Arthur to entice a friendly squeeze. "Isn't that right, your highness?"

Arthur rolled his eyes but relented.

Matthew went on, "I was researching the psychological effects and tendencies Spadian Strength has on Kings, Alfred."

Alfred felt the moony smile droop from his face. "Yeah?" He brought it back ten-fold when Arthur crossed his arms and shook his head, as if disapproving.

"Some Kings go crazy. Others, of course, don't. I wanted to see if there's a reason, or correlation between the Kings and anything that could contribute to their mental downfall, or rather, what avoided it."

"Let me see your muscles, then," Alfred goaded Arthur in a baby-voice, giving his bicep a pleasant squeeze. "Come on, tough guy." Quickly, "That's great, Mattie. You dork."

A sharp sigh. Alfred could imagine his brother pushing his glasses up his face in that way he did when he was sick of someone's crap. "Well, for starters, you need to see this as an exchange of power. Queens give off energy, and Kings amplify it."

Arthur made a fist, and hey, he had something nice and lean going on. Turns out swinging those magic swords at people's heads needed something to back it up. Alfred clamped a palm over the sleeve of Arthur's jacket again, and whistled and winked, "I'm loving this energy you're giving to amplify me, your highness."

"Alfred," Arthur warned in a sharp tone, but that certain cheek-scrunch said otherwise. "Have some tableside manners."

"Right," Matthew said. "Anyway. The Kings take all this power in, but I'm thinking it has to go out some way or another, or else there's...for lack of better terms, build up."

Alfred agreed, "Ew. Hey, I think Arthur mentioned something like that a while ago." His eyes focused from staring off, grinning a moment before he ducked forward and planted a kiss to Arthur's shoulder, nearly missing a swat for his head.

"It's not all physical, Al. You need to have mental stimulation, too."

"I'm already-"

"Don't even say anything tacky, or I swear I will stab you with this spoon."

Alfred held his hands up, deciding that would be a good time to wiggle himself more in his brother's direction. Matthew narrowed his eyes, before slowly lowering his weapon. "I think you should really be paying attention. This is something Spadians haven't really studied or documented. Sometimes it just...happens one day, that the King snaps and kills everybody around him."

Cue silence.

Alfred coughed into his sleeve. "Wow, thanks, Matthew. I'll try not to do that."

"You ass, I'm trying to help prevent that, too." Matthew quickly added, "If such a thing was going to happen. Keeping busy. Being occupied. Back up plans." He smacked a fist to the table, rattling the cups and scaring Alfred. Yao raised his eyebrows. "If you're going to be walking around day-to-day with this much power, we need to take precautions. Nothing against you, Al, but we should come up with something to help those who come after us."

Yao noted with a flick of that particular paper, "Spoken like a King. I completely agree."

Arthur gave Alfred a sharp look. Fun times over. "So do I. What were you thinking, Matthew?"

Matthew smiled a bit at himself and pulled a stack of papers from Yao's collection. "These are just ideas right now. Brainstorming." He handed the papers over to the Queen. Geez, it was a lot of papers. "These are regiments Alfred could do on a daily or even weekly basis as an outlet, if we would call it that."

Alfred squished against Arthur's shoulder to run through the list. "Gods, Mattie! Twenty-five jump kicks? Forty lunges?! You think I'm made out of steel or something?"

"Something," Matthew said. "Look, Al, do you want to try it, or not? It's the same reason why we have that whole underground maze, the same reason why the damn palace is literally carved into the mountain. Just in case."

Alfred caught Arthur's eye, a serious glimpse between them and the papers. "Yeah," he agreed. "I get it. Besides, I don't want to be sitting around all day and getting flabby."

Arthur cut in, "Not that you would be sitting on your rear the whole day, anyway."

All right, Alfred couldn't help it. He snuck a peck to Arthur's cheek, eyes flickering to spot his brother's reaction. Nothing but blank staring at them going over his regimens (read: torture). Good. "Yeah," Alfred said again. Spades was full of precautions. "We can give it a go. I don't want to go all murder-happy just as you guys do."

Alfred did not feel particularly murder-happy. He did not want to be murder-happy. What if the other Kings felt the same way, before they found their hands around their family's throats? Great. Now he was doubting himself. He had to go with the workout regimes (read: torture). All a part of Matthew's plan.

Matthew sat at the table, leaning on his arms, as innocent as can be.

Alfred stopped Arthur's hand from turning, and jabbed a finger at non-workout ideas, which included cutting back on sweets, limiting intimacy with the Queen, and taking...cold baths? He wandered what his brother had been smoking, because that sounded like a very un-Kingly life. "What's this?"

'King-Slaying Blade?' Question mark included.

It could have been his imagination, but Alfred felt a weight settle across his shoulders as he repeated the words from the page, "King-Slaying Blade." He looked up. "What's that?"

"You just said it," Matthew gave his head a shake. "It's literally in the name."

Alfred jested past his stomach twisting around his breakfast. "A blade the King has to use to flay people? Sounds festive."

Matthew glowered at Yao. "You didn't tell him?"

Without looking up from his papers, Yao said, "I was busy trying to move a King into place and accommodate the rest of the palace. Forgive me if I had not considered how to kill him just yet if the need arises."

"What?" Alfred croaked. Gods, these Spadian Royals are crazy! Talking about popping his head off before he even got to the throne! Maybe that was how Kings went nuts. Everyone else went first.

"Yes," Yao continued as Alfred felt pale, "as you heard, King-Slaying Blade. It's an ordinary blade like any other, except it is made with an extremely rare material that not even the strongest King can break it. If a King were to rampage, it could well be the only thing that could end it."

"By stabbing me?! Isn't there like, magic or a hidden cage somewhere to stop it?"

"Well...yes, weeks without the source of power, and once that power runs its course, a King could be brought back, but who is to say that he or she won't fall into the same pattern again?"

Arthur twisted to stare at Alfred, who tried to keep his expression blank. His eyes felt haunted.

Still going, Yao said, "Besides, there may not be a lot of time or people to manage to get a rampaging King into containment. They must be forgiven for being hasty, and the blade is the surest way to do it." He finally put down his papers and scowled at Alfred. "Whatever you do, whatever happens, there will be Kings after you. The Kingdom must go on. If not for us, then for your citizens."

"And that's the most guaranteed way of doing it, so I better shut my mouth and deal with it."

Yao put on a little grin. "For lack of better words."

Arthur leaned, and Alfred turned his head in surprise, thinking for a moment he would kiss him. He didn't, of course, but he stared real intensely, like he could see the crazy run around Alfred's veins. Not angrily, "You look like you're going to be ill."

Alfred's stomach and heart were performing whatever duet they came up with when he wasn't paying attention. "A-and you look as beautiful and all brows as always." Fumbling over words, to Yao, "Can we be excused now? Please!"

Yao tipped his head, shrugging, but Alfred was already out of his chair. Arthur grunted in urgency, having no choice but to follow with those chains. It was times like these that Alfred wished they thought of a different persuasion tactic, rather than a shackle. He was going to be King, end of story.

...or not.

"Alfred, where are you going?"

Alfred slowed when he reached the hallway to the master wing. "I...um, fresh air?" The balcony? Maybe jumping off of it for fun?

"It's bloody cold outside!" Arthur protested as the chamber doors swung open. His tone, however, was not harsh and grating. It hasn't been for a while. He gently tugged Alfred from the doors, closing them behind themselves, and held a hand to cushions before the fireplace. "Why don't we stay warm and ease our minds by a fire?"

Alfred chewed the inside of his cheek and bobbled his head up and down. A snap, and a spark flew from Arthur's fingertips and onto the waiting, half-charred logs. He gestured to sit, and the chain clinked, always to remind them of their third party.

"Why so glum? You haven't told a cheesy joke since before breakfast."

Alfred watched the fire, something magical as it flickered between cerulean and verdant. He then turned to bathe in the sight of Arthur eyes on him, and nothing else, but his brows were furrowed in what Al hoped to be worry. Why would he look like that, while they were still bound? Maybe the spell could never be complete. Maybe it was a ruse. Either way, he was not a sight Alfred wanted to ever look away from. He parted his lips, knowing his voice would come out lame before it did, "Everyone expects me to go nuts, one way or another. I don't want to go crazy, but what if..." He swallowed, blinking as the fire argued with the stinging in his eyes, "What if I can't help it? What if it happens, anyway?"

"Alfred..." Arthur said nothing else.

"I-I mean, I'm probably already everything you don't want in a King. I came from a farm for crying out loud! I don't want to disappoint you anymore than I already have-"

"Why would you say that? All of that is wrong." Alfred gawked, almost letting out a little bewildered laugh. Almost. Fierce green eyes on him again, ever a menace to Alfred's heart as they leered closer, "You didn't seem to let what other people think stop you before. Why start now?"

The heat of the fireplace mingled with Alfred's cheeks.

Not holding back, Arthur slung a leg over the other and crossed his arms like some kind of punk instead of the ruler of an entire Kingdom, "Where's the Alfred that destroyed my garden in hopes of his odd way of showing love would win my heart? Where's the Alfred that laughs off criticisms? Where's the Alfred that can handle a punch and deal with the blows, hm?

"Idiot." Arthur whispered, more softly. His face was getting pink, too. "If you think that way and get paranoid that it is going to happen, then it probably will. So, be quiet and stop groveling already! Do what you have to do and be a King and do it right!"

"Oh, wow," Alfred intelligently murmured to himself before the sight of this utterly savage beauty. "It's just...I..." No words. It was a breathtaking performance. He could only manage a dopey grin, and blurt, "Can I please kiss you right now?"

"Absolutely not," Arthur turned his head away, smiling to the wall. He kept a mournful distance away. "When you're done being a fool, then I may consider."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

The chain still remained.