The next day... Arthur POV
Arthur didn't expect to be woken up so early, or so roughly, but as he deciphered what his mate was saying, his eyes opened widely in realization. He dressed hurriedly as he washed his face and brushed his hair and teeth. He couldn't believe his ears.
They had confessed.
He pulled on his boots and laced them silently, completely sober of sleep. He was completely awake, even though his eyes were bloodshot. Alfred slipped on his crown and grabbed Arthur's arms harshly, practically dragging him down the hall. The brit almost had to run to keep up with him, the American much too fast. The brit didn't say anything though; he knew the prince was just anxious and wanted to get this over it. He probably wanted Peter to receive some sense of justice.
The prince didn't wait for the trumpets when they got to the Grand hall's entrance. He didn't wait for anyone to hold the door. Instead, he pushed it open himself, letting go of Arthur as he did so. The brit was suddenly aware of the ache on his wrist; the American's grip being too tight. They walked in in small strides, Arthur being no more than 2 feet behind Alfred. They sat down on their thrones and waited, ignoring the disgruntled face of the Harold. Perhaps he didn't like waking up at 4 in the morning.
The whole hall was filled; every single guard, knight, maid and butler were there, each possessing an almost terrified and frantic expression. John, the Harold, skipped formalities and yelled to call in the prisoners. Arthur watched as two guards escorted a group of about 13 knights into the hall, keeping a respectable distance of the comrades. Arthur squinted at them, instantly recognizing their faces.
They were quite popular around the fortress, Margaret and Arthur often ranked them as some of the most handsome knights in the building. But now, Arthur couldn't help but find their faces repulsive, the sneers on their faces making them look almost grotesque. Arthur looked upon them with beady eyes as they kneeled before them, faces bowed. Alfred hummed, grabbing the attention of the audience.
"Sir Thomas, Sir Xavier, Sir Williams, Sir Grady, Sir Abeles, Sir Smith, Sir Valentino, Sir Richards, Sir O'Brien, Sir Cambridge, Sir Parker, Sir Stanley, and Sir Mathers... You are all charged for the crimes committed on approximately November 23, 1697." He said loud and emotionlessly, staring at his underlings with blank eyes. "These charges included kidnapping, assault, and... murder."
Arthur's eyebrows raised as he snapped his eyes towards the prince. What did he mean murder? They murdered him?! He looked back at the knights in front of him with new heat, a burning hatred searing its way into his heart.
"Sir Abeles, since you were the one to confess, you will be spared most of the consequences." Arthur's eyes flickered. He can't be excused because he confessed! He killed an innocent person. However, Arthur kept his mouth shut, silently fuming as Alfred continued. "However, from this day on, you are all stripped of your knighthood, and you Sir Abeles, and your entire family, will be exiled from the United states and all of its protectorates. You will keep your fortune, but you no longer carry the title of nobleman."
The prince turned to look at the brit, asking him with his eyes if he wanted to ask anything. Arthur had a million questions racing through his mind. Why did they do it? Why did it take so long for them to confess? Why did they target Peter? Arthur paused as he frowned.
Why did they target Peter?
"Why my brother?" He asked, his voice already cracking. Sir Abeles was the only to look him in the eyes, but he still didn't answer. "Why my little brother?" He asked again, this time letting the tears fall. "He was just 16 years old. He could hardly walk, talk, and sometimes even eat." His voice was soft, but the room was so quiet that all of his words could be heard clearly.
"Why him?" He continued. "Why hurt a child?" His voice was cracking with every syllable. "He couldn't have disrespected you, so why hurt him? Why kidnap him? Why...? Why kill him? Why kill him if he did nothing to you?" He swallowed harshly wiping his tears away gently. Sir Abeles returned his gaze to ground, none of the Knights saying a word. The prince finally jumped in.
"He asked you a question, now answer it. Why did you kill that child?" The Knights glanced at each other. "Abeles, tell us what you told me." He commanded. The Knight visibly jumped as he stood. He cleared his throat.
"Why did we hurt your brother?" He repeated. "I, honestly, don't know. We thought it would be funny to see him waddle uphill while carrying our equipment. Whenever we asked him questions, he wouldn't answer, and I suppose that didn't sit well with most of us." He stared down at his hands. Arthur sneered and growled at him loudly, causing all eyes to land on him.
"You thought it would be funny to see my brother struggle with a disability?!" He looked down at them with disbelieving eyes. Arthur thought he was prepared for this day, but he has never been more wrong in his life. "You thought... you thought, because he COULDN'T answer you fucking cunts, you had the right to inflict pain on him?! You're sorry excuses for men. Did it hurt your egos that much? Did it hurt to not be acknowledged like gods?" His tears stopped flowing, now he looked just plain angry. The brit clenched his fist, wanting to lash out on every last person in that god forsaken room, but he held it in.
Sir Abeles, cleared his throat. "Looking back- "
He was interrupted by a loud scoff from Arthur. "Looking back now!? Who the fuck raised you, cattle?! You are grown men, who have been given the duty to protect and serve! You can't tell me that looking back you would have done that differently, as if you didn't know what you were doing at the time was wrong!" He was yelling now, scolding the beasts in front of him. "So don't you dare pretend that you are sorry for what you did! You're just sorry you got caught." His eyes were watering up again, but this time in frustration. The whole room was silent. "Continue!" The brit barked, scaring Abeles.
"We... when he didn't answer our questions, we felt offended, so we settled in a clearing. He took out some wooden swords and gave him one. We... no, THEY told him to train with us to make him stronger." His own eyes began to water too, as if the memory burned. Arthur sneered but he didn't speak. "He refused to fight, so they told him to defend himself..." He trailed off as he began to sob. "I SWEAR TO YOU I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING AFTER THIS POINT!" He gushed out, throwing himself on his knees. "The guilt has been eating me alive!" Arthur closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.
Abeles, he had noticed for over the past few weeks, has been getting thinner, his dark circles got darker, and his hair would look messier every day. Arthur thought it was boredom or depression, but is Abeles insinuating that it was trauma? No, no, no, no. Abeles knew nothing about trauma.
"Abeles, stop talking." He growled. "Leave, go to your chambers and pack up. I don't want to see your face around this fortress in the afternoon." He spat. The man nodded as he left the room, all eyes on him. The brit however, was staring at the row of men kneeling before him. "You!" he pointed at the knight on the far left. "Cambridge! Continue the story." He ordered. The knight looked up and turned to the prince questioningly. Before Alfred could confirm, Arthur spoke again. "I said speak, so fucking speak!" Everyone flinched, and Cambridge nodded in shock.
"We..." His voice was deep, but shaky. "We began to spar with him. He didn't know how to block any of our blows, so they all landed. He began to cry out, probably in fear, probably in pain... whatever it was, it made us want to continue." He said. He didn't sound nearly as remorseful as Abeles had, but considering he was probably going to die, why pretend to care. Arthur felt his heart beat faster.
Peter only cried out when he was scared and confused, never out of pain. He was used to pain, but when bad things happened to them for no apparent reason, that was when he used his voice. He couldn't speak, but Arthur would understand. He would ask why, and the brit would always tell him it was destiny leading them down the road of hardships so when they reached their destination, it would seem sweeter. He had read that on the back of a novel once, but he held on to that philosophy so he could repeat it to Peter whenever he had needed.
Arthur almost sobbed at the image in his head. His brother being beaten with sticks and having no idea why. Crying out and asking what he had done to deserve that treatment, only for it to get worse. And the worst part is that he wasn't there to comfort him, or help him. He covered his mouth with his hands. He felt as if his heart was breaking all over again. He didn't want to hear about any more of the torment.
"How did you kill him?"
Arthur turned to the prince, who had spoken for the first time in a while. Smith, glanced at Arthur, questioningly. Arthur stared back at him for a few moments before realizing he was asking for permission. He nodded slowly.
"After hitting him a few more time, he had fallen on the ground and he began to cry. Abeles wanted to treat his wounds, but we refused. That would only make him weaker." Arthur cut him off with a curse.
"You get treated all the time for your wounds, or are you just forgetting that, you fucking twat!" Smith remained silent. Ugh! "Well fucking continue!"
"We... tied his legs and hands together, and threw him into a tree. And when Abeles tried to take him down... we ran our horses into the trunk. The child, he dropped. He fell and he hit his head. He wasn't moving, he wasn't crying anymore, he was just quiet. Abeles was crying though, that coward. He cleaned off the wound, and tried to stop the bleeding, but it was pointless." He said coldly, looking the brit into his eyes. "He was already dead."
Arthur clenched his fists angrily.
"Where did you put his body?" Alfred asked, knowing that Arthur was about a second away from killing someone. This time O'Brien spoke out.
"We wanted to toss him in a creek, but Abeles wanted to bury him. We tried to tell him that the English don't deserve any graves, but he didn't listen, we had to wait for him to dig a hole and bury that child. It took hours." He was frowning. "He buried him not so far from here actually. A 30-minute walk away from the spring training ground." He shook his head. "He put a grave marker and everything. It is impossible to miss."
Arthur nodded, looking at Alfred for a brief second. "Okay. I want to change the punishments." He stated, not making eye contact with the prince. He heard him hum in consent, and Arthur continued. "I don't want Abeles to be exiled." Arthur couldn't believe he was saying it, but Abeles did try to right his wrong. "I want him to leave the capital though. Maybe somewhere in the midwest, a decent plot of land for him and his family, some of his wealth, a few cattle. He buried my brother, I am completely grateful for that. Though I wish he confessed the day of, I still appreciate that he did."
"Ok... and as for these men?" Alfred asked with a hum. Arthur smiled, albeit, wickedly.
"Simple, I want them to take up their wooden swords and fight to the death." Alfred looked at the side of his face in confusion. "In the spring training grounds, where you killed my brother, I want you all fight to the death there. With wooden swords. And the one who makes it out alive, will get the chance to fight for their freedom in a sword fight against Davie. If they win, they go free, if they lose, Davie will have the last blow." He said darkly.
Alfred frowned as he sat up, looking around for the knight in question. Davie was standing directly beside the prince the whole time, nodding his head in consent, smiling at the men in front of him. Alfred nodded too.
"So let it be so!" He declared.
~~~~~~Wounded Knight~~~~~~
5 hours later...
The mass of people were now in their warmest clothes as they watched the execution. There was a low murmur moving throughout the crowd. The brit heard them calling this punishment cruel, that it was too severe for the charges. However, the brit saw it as a double standard. How could they punish how they please, and not expect the same treatment? If anything this was Karma.
At least that's what the brit told himself as he waited for the punishment to begin.
Each man was given their own wooden sword, no armor and no shield. The clearing was their arena, and as the men began to circle around each other, the crowd began to quiet down. Many of the people remained in the fortress by the command of Arthur, he didn't want to scar any child for life. So all the kids, mothers, and a few fathers were commanded to stay in their chambers until told to do otherwise. So now, almost all of the guards and knights were sitting in trees to watch the battle, silently rooting for their favorite to make it out alive.
The men began to lung at each other, bringing the Englishman back to reality. They swung and blocked as best as they could, but Arthur flinched every time he heard the wooden stick crack down on someone's head. Sir Smith, after being beaten down a little, became the target of the other 11 knights. They kept on striking him, almost each blow landing on his head, to the point where he was no longer fighting back.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he heard his cries of mercy. Arthur pursed his lips as the cries stopped. He heard heavy panting, sobbing, and someone emptying out their intestines. He opened his eyes to see the men either gasping, crying or vomiting near Smith. Arthur looked down at the other's body with teary eyes, saying a silent blessing for the dead man. He looked like a pile of red clothes. His once handsome face no longer looked like a face, but instead a puree of cherries. Arthur held his breath.
The men were no longer fighting, instead, they threw themselves to their knees, begging for the first time since they were caught. "Please!" It was Parker speaking, voice muddled. "WE HAD JUST KILLED ONE OF OUR COMRADES! We can't do this anymore!" He begged through tears, and Arthur noted the other's faces. They were tear streak and scared. Arthur looked out into the crowd, but none of the guards and knights were looking at them. Instead, they were looking at Alfred.
"My lord!" Someone cried out from the crowd. "Don't let a whore tear apart our brotherhood!" Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. He glanced at Alfred, expecting to see a blank canvas on his face. What he saw, however, was not that. The American looked horrified and disgusted, but he also had accepting, even though sad, looking eyes. He knew it was necessary.
Is this necessary?
Arthur looked back at the body, biting back his tears. That was a painful death, no doubt. A very painful death, and in no way was it quick. But they were monsters, they killed an innocent boy! They murdered together, they die together, simple as that... However, Arthur isn't god, who was he to murder? But anyone in their right mind would call this justice! Arthur looked back at the body, the mangled corpse still oozing blood onto the snow. Arthur closed his eyes.
He felt beyond wrong. He had just killed someone! Even if it wasn't his own hands that beat Smith to death, he had ordered it to be done. The ice cold realization cut through his chest like a dagger. He was disgusting. He was beastly as the rest of them. Arthur had to admit, this punishment was much too extreme; he's shocked he even came up with this. How much anger does one need in their heart to sentence 12 people to do this?
He was brought out of his thoughts when the American raised his hand slowly. "We will have a conversation about this. In the meantime, remove Smith's body." He said smoothly, excusing himself and Arthur. He lead the brit away from the clearing by the hand, not saying a word until they were far enough away from the crowd.
"Alfred?" the brit asked as they rounded a tree, causing the American to stop. The prince turned to face him, and Arthur could already see the conflict in the other's eyes. He frowned, knowing full well what was coming.
"Arthur, I'm begging you." He said. That's all he said. Arthur growled at him.
"What do you mean? We agreed on this punishment earlier!" Arthur didn't know why he was so angry. Maybe because he's angry at himself? Is he angry that no one stopped him before the knight died?
"Arthur, I know you're angry, but please! Even you have to admit that this punishment exceeds the crime." He grabbed the brit's shoulder. "I already stripped them of their knighthood. Can't I just exile them and their families? We could stop now, and punish the rest fairly." Arthur pulled away from him.
"We can't just stop now!" He watched at the other's face contort into confusion. "We already killed Smith, it wouldn't be fair to spare the other's now." He explained, evening out his voice. Alfred shook his head.
"We can still stop, that doesn't matter!"
"Alfred, yes it does!"
"No, Arthur! It doesn't! Do you just want them to die!?" Alfred barked at him, scaring the omega. Arthur opened his mouth, about to say no, but then he bit his tongue. They deserved to die, they did.
They did.
"Yes." He answered honestly, ignoring the look of disbelief on the prince's face. "They should not be pardoned for what they did. A life for a life." Alfred stayed still, not saying anything. He just looked at Arthur with cold eyes, frustrated beyond words.
"Look" He said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you are angry for what they did, I am too, but... these are my people Arthur." He placed his hands on his hips. "I can't let this happen. I'll pull out the guillotine or something, and end their lives. It'll be painless."
"No!" The brit was furious. "Peter's death wasn't painless! Why should they not suffer too?!" Alfred grabbed the Englishman by the shoulder and shook him harshly.
"STOP IT!" He warned the smaller blonde, growling. "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD!" Arthur looked at him with blurry eyes, confused and hurt. Why was he getting angry at him? The American has been nothing but gentle to those cowardly brutes, but to his own mate he was raising his voice!? The Englishman opened his mouth, ready to spit out a string of insults, but the look in his lover's eyes made him hesitate. He looked angry, disappointed, and overall just shocked.
The brit bit his tongue, tearing his eyes away from the American and onto the snowy ground. He didn't want to compromise over this matter, he was already in too deep. The Englishman felt the American try and pull him into a hug, probably in an attempt to comfort him, but the brit was angry beyond words. He shoved the American away, turning and stomping his way back to the clearing.
When he stepped back to his place, everyone was silent, curious about the final verdict. It would have been formal to wait for the prince to return, but Arthur had no doubt he was close behind him. He ordered the surviving 11 men to return to the center, just in time for the prince to reemerge beside Arthur. The Englishman was too angry to speak, glancing at Alfred in an attempt to get him to do it.
"You all will die today, however, I have deemed this punishment unconstitutional, violating our eighth amendment, stating excessive bail, fines, nor cruel or unusual punishments are not allowed." He said. "The rest of you will be put to death swiftly, by use of the guillotine, and a portion your wealth will remain with your families, as compensation for the horror we have inflicted upon you. Smith's family, too, will keep a portion their wealth, but they are to lose their status as nobility." He explained.
The men in the center looked grey, but the men surrounding them cheered. They were overjoyed that their wise prince was no longer under the talons of the British beast. How fitting, Arthur thought with a roll of his eyes.
Midnight... Alfred's POV
Alfred watched as Arthur changed into his nightgown silently, staring blankly in the mirror as he did so. He had been silent since the remaining 11 men were executed, an uneventful, yet sad, event. Alfred made silent prayers for them all, even though they let him down completely. They were some of the best knights on the island, but even so, they were replaceable, and they were no more than pawns to Alfred, in that sense.
But they were still human, so he still felt a pang of sympathy for them and what he had so foolishly forced them to do. It was monstrous of him, he admitted to himself, forcing them to kill their friend in such a brutish manner. He should have never agreed to it, but at the time, in the early morning, after hearing of their crimes, he couldn't help but toss reason out of the window. He just hoped he wouldn't burn in hell for it.
Arthur on the other hand, hadn't talk to him since their argument. His face was contorted into a sneer for the entire day, shrugging off everyone's advances, and just acting very much out of character. Alfred couldn't blame him, seeing that it was his brother who was wrongfully murdered. The American was aware of how he acted when his father first died; he was violent and angry.
However, Alfred had to admit to himself, he would never say this out loud, Arthur had acted beyond inappropriately. He yelled orders in his court as if he ran it, he ordered an execution, which Alfred did sanction, but in his defense, he didn't come up with it. Still, Alfred blamed himself for falling into it, and accepting.
Worst of all, that brit had the nerve to argue with him about ending the execution, saying it was too late now. That had Alfred beyond angry, and the American used all of his self-control to not strike the brit down. He understood that Arthur was angry, but that response was unacceptable. So yeah, he yelled, and he didn't regret it.
Arthur needed to realize his place in this relationship. Alfred is the king, not him. Hopefully he was aware of that now. The prince walked into the bathroom without even glancing at the Englishman. He could be in his feelings all he wants; Alfred didn't need to apologize.
He brushed his hair and placed petals in the bath, grabbing enough soap for two people, just in case Arthur grew up and joined him. He opened the door and watched the brit stare at himself in the mirror. He had already changed, but he hadn't bathed like the fool he was. He must have noticed, glancing slowly at the American who was staring daggers into his side.
"Are you coming in? The water is getting cold." Arthur visibly huffed as he removed his gown, walking into the bathroom, right past the American without a word. He slipped in carefully, pressing himself in one corner. Alfred sighed as he entered too, keeping the distance between the two fairly large. Neither of them said a word. Arthur was staring at his own reflection and Alfred was staring at him.
Why was he so docile now? Wasn't he raising his voice at his alpha a few hours before? Oh the irony! Alfred couldn't stop himself from laughing out loud, causing the brit to look up and eye him warily. He didn't ask, and just went back to staring at his reflection. Alfred sighed internally as he grabbed some shampoo, cleaning his hair, rinsing it out after it had lathered. He conditioned it shortly after, making sure to coat every strand. A good king must have good hair!
After he had finished, he had noticed the brit hadn't moved an inch from his spot, he was still staring at himself. At this rate, he would be in here forever. "Ugh!" He sighed as he threw his head back. When he looked back at the brit, the small blond was looking at him, annoyed. "Hmm" he hummed. "Come over here." He said sternly, but softly. The brit scoffed as he turned his head, rolling his eyes. Maybe he wasn't clear enough.
"Arthur, I said come over here. I won't ask again." He sounded angry, and he was. Arthur was being nothing but difficult. The Englishman turned to him with wet eyes, lips trembling.
What?
"Resorting to threats I see." He said simply as he stood, stepping out of the tub. Alfred looked at him in confusion. Had he threatened him? That wasn't a threat! He hummed out loud. He scoffed as he scrubbed his body clean, not caring. It was late, and he didn't want to deal with Arthur's mood swings at this hour.
When he was done he stepped out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel. He exited the bathroom to see the brit, with a towel, sitting on the ground, in a corner. Light sobs could be heard, and Alfred felt his heart pang with guilt.
Arthur was his mate. It was his job to make him feel loved, not afraid, or hurt, or whatever! Alfred was ashamed of himself. He patted himself dry and put on a light sweater with black boxers, approaching the brit who had his face hidden in his knees. He didn't notice Alfred's presence until the American pulled him into a hug, which he thankfully accepted this time. He sobbed quietly into his chest, letting the prince scoop him up into his arms.
Alfred knew why he was crying, so he didn't bother asking. All he did was whisper sweet words and apologies, sorry for his harsh words. He has to be careful with Arthur; he was an omega after all. He was sensitive. The Englishman showed no sign of stopping however, leaving Alfred to dress him in a warm nightgown and carefully slipped into bed.
An hour had passed before Arthur eventually calmed down, eyes red and completely out of tears. He looked spent as he clung onto Alfred, closing his eyes as he passed out. The American hummed in relief, glad that Arthur was resting after such a long day. Alfred soon followed suit, closing his eyes and finding his happy place.
~~~~~Wounded Knight~~~~~
He awoke to a soft knock on the door, but he remained silent because his bones felt like lead. Arthur was still sleeping beside him, snuggled up against a large body pillow Margaret had made for him. The brit would occasionally have back aches, but the nurses said it was just him adapting to the mattress.
The soft knocking continued, so Alfred hummed loudly, causing the brit to flinch in his sleep. The prince stood up carefully and approached the door, opening it to show a half-naked Davie at his door. "Oh, what a sight for sore eyes!" he deadpanned as he walked towards his bed, leaving the door open for Davie. The Knight closed the door behind him, chuckling softly.
"You don't look too bad yourself, hot cakes." Alfred scrunched up his nose, glaring at the knight. Davie blinked innocently at him, placing a single finger on his lips and crossing his legs, like a ditzy pin up girl. Alfred smiled softly, but hummed in annoyance.
"What time is it? And why are you here?" He whispered, suddenly remembering the sleeping man in his bed. Davie shrugged.
"It can't be past dawn, seeing that it's still pitch black outside." He said with a frown. He looked around, eyes landing on the nightstand. "Do you always sleep with a candle on? That's a fire hazard, you know." The prince rolled his eyes. Why does he always do this?
"Is that so? Well, any fire knows better than to cross me." He said with a wave of his hand, arrogance dripping off of his words. Davie scoffed, amused.
"Well, as for why I'm here..." He trailed off, staring at Arthur's unconscious body. He pointed. "I just wanted to make sure that little biscuit over there didn't end up killing you." He said with a warm smile. Alfred looked over to the Englishman and smiled warmly too. He was glad that Davie liked Arthur, because if he hadn't, he wouldn't have known what to do with him.
He and Davie knew each other since... well Alfred didn't know since. He was sure he knew Davie before he lost his memory, seeing that when he first woke up, Davie and Matthew were there everyday trying to help the prince remember them. Davie however, claimed that they met in the infirmary for the first time, when he woke up. The American didn't believe him though. Alfred had to relearn everything about his family and his friends, well the ones he chose to keep that is. He stopped talking to the clingy annoying ones who tried to use their sycophantic ways to get his approval.
Davie and Matthew, however, were always straight forward with him, even if it would make him angry. At first it pissed him off, but he gravitated towards that for the very same reason. They were honest, which is a very rare trait in court, but Alfred guessed it was because of their backgrounds.
Matthew was born and raised in Canada, by his aunt, the Duchess. When she died, he was taken in by their father, and raised as Alfred's brother from the age of 10. He was politer than Alfred, at least that's what his mother always said. He was humbler and kind, and never played favorites. He is loved by all.
Davie was the child of the palace's gardener and head nurse maid. He usually helped in the infirmary with his mother, but when he had free time, he would help his father, they had shared the same interest in flowers. Being of unroyal blood, you would think Davie would be the most sycophantic of them all, but when they first met, in the infirmary, Davie had told him to stop humming because it was annoying. Alfred hummed louder, and the nurse boy had pinched his lips together, threatening to sew them shut.
And that's how he met his best friend.
Whenever his mother tossed him a mate, if he wasn't sure about them, he would ask Davie. Davie had a weird way of reading people, so if Davie gave them a good grade, Alfred would have definitely said yes. He never did though, so Alfred placed his full trust in him and sent them away.
Davie approved of Arthur though, which was good, because the prince wasn't sure if he wanted to introduce the two. He was certain Arthur was the one for him, but what if he wasn't seeing something that Davie could. The meeting over tea had Alfred sweating bullets, but Davie and the brit were talking casually, as if they were friends. After tea, Margaret had taken Arthur to the study, and Davie and him wrestled for kicks.
After their little fight, Davie gave Arthur an 'A+' and sent Alfred on his way.
But now here they were, gazing at Alfred's most important accomplishment in his entire life. The prince loved him, and Arthur loved him too, even if he did get fussy at times. Davie cleared his throat.
"There are little rumors, going around the castle..." Alfred looked up at him. "They say that Arthur is actually a demon, and that he possessed you." The American laughed but Davie looked serious. "That the execution stopped by the sheer grace of god, trying to combat the beast" he pointed at Arthur, in clarification. "Who has taken its hold on your heart." Alfred laughed again, a bit hesitantly, seeing that Davie was still looking at Arthur.
"What? You can't be serious. Look... I know Arthur has a bit of a temper, but other than today, he has never been like that. In fact, he's as sweet as candy, he was just out of character." He frowned as he spoke in the Englishman's defense. Davie held his hands up, redirecting his eyes to look at his friend.
"I don't believe it, but the other's do. I'm just letting you know so you can make sure Maggie is the only one who could prepare his food, so you know." He pointed at the brit. "And I suggest you keep him with you or I, at all times, to prevent an assault of some kind." Alfred hummed. Will that really be necessary?
"Alfred, if anyone else makes his food, he could be poisoned. If we aren't there to protect him, who else would?" He uncrossed his legs. "Better safe than sorry, right?"
Alfred nodded, Davie was making sense.
"Okay, good."
