In which there is entirely too much fog and Alfonse takes a warm bath.
(Trying to accommodate new revelations in Blazing Shadows like whoa!
But how did this get so long, anyway?)
In another quarter of an hour, all is packed at last, and the party sets off for the capital with an estimated arrival time of nightfall. The fog remains thick even as morning breaks, and Alfonse soon finds himself shivering from the cold. Bruno, in an act of clemency or, more likely, vexed by his unabated shaking, eventually removes his own heavy cloak and drapes it over him. Alfonse glances at him over his shoulder.
"Thank you," he says sincerely, but Bruno carries on as if he hasn't heard him.
They ride on in silence. There isn't much to see under all the fog, and Bruno won't talk, so Alfonse has nothing to distract himself from the steady ache in his bound arms and shoulders and the burn in his neck and wrists where the ropes have rubbed his skin raw. The leather of the saddle feels itchy between his legs and presses painfully into the wound on his thigh. He tries to keep from shifting around too much with the movements of the horse, but it takes all his core strength just to remain upright.
He wishes they could stop somewhere to rest for a time-he's tired and hungry and slightly motion sick-but the thought of actually reaching their destination fills him with certain dread. Veronica has demonstrated that she wants in him more than just a trophy and a hostage, and he's borne witness to enough of her darker inclinations to be able to reasonably discern something of her tastes. On signing the contract to surrender himself to her, he expected to be tortured eventually, for intelligence, maybe, or even out of spite, and he was prepared to abide it with all the nobility ordained by his station.
But this is something else. There's no purpose to her cruelty, no desired end to it as far as he can tell. For the princess, the act of tormenting him is its own reward, one from which she derives some perverse pleasure. It makes her wholly unpredictable, and it's that unknown that frightens him more than anything.
He exhales slowly through his mouth, concentrating on staying calm. He has no control over what happens to him now, he reminds himself, so there's no sense in worrying over it.
He tries straightening his back again, hoping to relieve the ache in it even a little, but without his arms for balance, he nearly slides of the horse until Bruno throws his own arm around his waist to catch him.
"What are you doing?" he asks, annoyed, and they're so close that Alfonse can feel the rumble of his voice through his spine.
"My back hurts from being tied like this," he says, listless.
Bruno pulls his arm tighter around his waist, drawing him back toward him. "Then lean against me," he says, "and stop squirming."
Alfonse blushes at the contact but doesn't reject it. Bruno's chest is solid and warm, and though lying against it doesn't fully alleviate the pain in his back, it helps. He ends up closing his eyes, focusing his attention on the rhythmic clip-clop of hoofbeats.
They break for lunch just after noon. Bruno wakes Alfonse from the light slumber he's fallen into by hauling him bodily from the horse. Then he sits him on his knees in the dewy grass and thrusts a strip of salted jerky beneath his nose.
"Eat," he orders. Alfonse stares.
"I'm not a dog," he says flatly, but his resistance is already crumbling; the smell of the meat hangs under his nose, making his mouth water.
"As you are under Princess Veronica's thrall, I see no difference between you and a dog," Bruno says snidely, and Alfonse glares. "If you choose not to eat now, then you will go without until we reach the palace."
"No," Alfonse says, almost a moan. "Alright. I'll eat."
Bruno holds out the jerky, and Alfonse leans forward on his knees, then hesitates. It isn't any easier than it was this morning, and here, he doesn't even have the privacy of a tent. Feeling very self-conscious, he opens his mouth and tentatively tears a strip off with his teeth, chewing and swallowing quickly to dispose of any evidence that he was hand-fed. He glances around him then to see if anyone is watching, but none of the other soldiers appear to be paying him any mind, so caught up are they in eating and chatting amongst themselves.
"Not so hard, was it?" Bruno asks, sounding irritatingly haughty. He presses the jerky up against Alfonse's lips, urging him to reluctantly take another bite. This, too, he finishes quickly and with another furtive look over his shoulder.
"Does it really amuse you to see me so debased?" he asks bitterly, even as he accepts the last of the meat. To his mortification, a strand of saliva escapes his lips in his haste, sliding down the side of his jaw.
"It isn't a matter of amusement to me," Bruno says, reaching out his hand to catch the saliva. "You need to acclimate. If you intend to survive, then you will need to toss out that foolish thing called pride that you cling to so desperately." He wipes his chin dry up to the corner of his mouth, then holds out his hand to show him, looking very smug as he does it.
Alfonse drops his eyes to stare at his knees. "That's easy for you to say. You aren't the one who is bound and humiliated and-and fed like a dog and at the mercy of your enemies!"
"Do not presume that you are the only one who has suffered in this life, prince," is Bruno's cold retort, and Alfonse flinches.
"Yes," he says, ashamed, "you're right. I'm a prince. Until now, I have led a comfortable life and have rarely wanted for anything. I have no right to continue thinking solely in my own self-interests."
To his surprise, Bruno's expression softens a little. "Here," he says, and he offers Alfonse another piece of jerky. "You should know," he adds after a moment, "that the bind I put you in contains no knots."
Alfonse looks at him quizzically, experimentally pulling at the ropes; they hold fast. "That is impressive," he says uncertainly.
"It is a sign of respect," Bruno explains, "for a prisoner bound with knots has the look of a common criminal. When care is taken to bind him with grace and aesthetic sense, it shows that he is of noble standing and is worthy of the effort."
Alfonse can't see anything particularly graceful in being bound either with or without knots, but the sentiment cheers him a little anyway. "I see," he says. "Then thank you for your consideration."
Bruno allows him two more strips of jerky and even a sugared peach, which leaves him comfortably sated. Then he produces a waterskin and gently tilts his head back as he guides the opening to his lips. Alfonse drinks deeply, nearly draining the skin before pulling back to catch his breath.
"Do you need to relieve yourself?" Bruno asks him after, and, flushing, Alfonse nods his head. This time, too, Bruno takes him away from the rest of the party and into the privacy of a cluster of trees. Alfonse observes he's slightly red between the legs from chafing, though the pain is fortunately minimal. It doesn't take him nearly as long to take care of himself this time; with a sinking heart, he realizes he's becoming accustomed to showing his body to this man.
They set off again, and this time, Alfonse has the energy to stay awake. By late noon, the fog has mostly burned off, revealing more of the stunning Emblian vista to him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? My country."
Alfonse turns his head to find that Princess Veronica has ridden up beside them and is gazing out over the fields as well.
"Princess," Alfonse greets her, endeavoring to keep the sharpness of anger out of his voice. "Yes-your empire enjoys a rich natural beauty to be envied."
"My father liberated these lands from a tribe of dreadful barbarians who were misusing them," she informs him. "And he had the good sense to put to death all of his dissenters before rebellion could swell in our empire. We have prospered ever since."
"That is quite the feat," Alfonse says neutrally, gazing over the land with a new sense of disgust.
"Oh yes, my father was quite the conqueror," Veronica says, sounding very pleased by the perceived compliment. Then she adds, rather self-consciously, "But of course, I will surpass him in greatness someday soon. If only he could see how already at my young age, I have captured the prince of the kingdom he could never conquer!"
She looks meaningfully at him, but he does not acknowledge it. Instead, he asks, "And what of your step-mother, who by all rights should be the reigning empress?"
Veronica's face darkens, and Alfonse almost regrets asking. "She is of no consequence," she growls. "I have expelled her from the royal palace, and now she plays at empress in her manor in the countryside. My people are loyal to me as they were loyal to my father before me, so she may cling to her title like a child with a broken toy, but in the end, she must accept that she has no power and that she cannot stop me."
Alfonse doesn't know how to respond to that, and thankfully, the princess drifts off back into the thick of the party, her mood clearly soured.
They reach the gates of the capital just after sundown. The entire city appears to be walled; a towering expanse of gray brick stretches in both directions as far as Alfonse can see. He shifts nervously on the horse; Bruno puts a hand out to hold him steady.
Princess Veronica rides to the front of the party with Xander close behind and addresses the gatemen, who bow low and give the order for the entrance to be opened. Bruno nudges his horse into a brisk trot, one arm wrapped around Alfonse to keep him stable, though the accelerated pace jostles him painfully against the saddle anyway. They come to a stop before Veronica, who looks him over, smiling slightly. Then she turns to address her army.
"We return home heroes!" she declares, eliciting a tremendous roar of approval from the congregated soldiers. "We have all but conquered the kingdom of Askr, taking their most valued ruler as our prisoner!"
The roar intensifies, and Alfonse ducks his head, shrinking further beneath Bruno's cloak.
"Let Embla ever prosper!" Veronica cries, and chants of "Long live Embla!" and "Long live the imperial princess!" fill the air. Then, turning her horse, the princess leads the procession through the gates and into the city.
Shoddy gas lamps light the tightly-packed streets of what appears to be a business district of some level of impoverishment if the close quarters, dirty street signs, and battered storefronts are any indicators. Alfonse gazes around in stunned dismay. Askr's principle commerce district is not extravagant, but it has a clean, healthy character to it that makes itself conductive to good business. Even the slums that Sharena has been working hard to reform have a certain prideful dignity to them. This, he thinks, is almost tragically dismal.
He doesn't have long to take in the city before they're stopped on the main road by a horse-drawn carriage, and it's into this that he's conveyed, slung like a child's doll over Bruno's shoulder. He's dropped unceremoniously onto the velvet seat cushions, and as indignant as he is about his manhandling, it's a relief to finally sit somewhere accommodating to his bare skin.
He glances out the window to see Veronica speaking with Xander, who gives her a firm nod before riding off ahead of them. To his dismay, she then dismounts her horse, hands it off to a foot soldier, and approaches Bruno, holding out her hand to be helped into their carriage.
"I can't wait to retire to my own bedchamber tonight," she says with a yawn, plopping down onto the bench across the way. "I have a lovely room set up for you, too, Alfonse."
He doubts that but inclines his head in respectful acknowledgement anyway. Bruno drops heavily beside him, giving him what might be a warning look, or perhaps he's just perpetually glaring. Veronica doesn't appear to notice, in any case.
"How about a warm bath when we get to the palace?" she suggests. "I've sent notice ahead for the servants to prepare one for you. I have the most delightful hot water spring from which I draw my baths, with plumbing and all!"
"If it pleases you, Princess," Alfonse responds carefully, though the thought of a bath sounds beyond divine right now.
The carriage ride to the palace is swift and smoother than horseback. Alfonse doesn't have much occasion to look around, however, for Veronica's subjects soon come to pack the streets, hoping to get a glimpse of her, or maybe him, and he won't let them see him in this state if he can help it. The princess doesn't pay them much heed, either, glancing up and out the window occasionally but keeping her eyes to her lap for the most part, apparently lost in thought.
They reach the imperial palace in just short of an hour. Alfonse feels his nerves kick up a notch as the carriage jerks to a halt. Looking out the window now, he sees that a crowd has congregated just beyond the palace gates where a handful of guards are struggling to keep them at bay.
Bruno exits the carriage first, offering his hand to the princess and helping her out where she's met with raucous cheering and applause. She turns to address her subjects, smiling and waving. Bruno returns for Alfonse, pulling him out decidedly less gently. He removes his cloak from his shoulders and takes hold of the rope lead, nudging him in the lower back and commanding him to walk. Unwillingly, Alfonse approaches Veronica.
"Here is Prince Alfonse of the Askran Kingdom!" she announces, stepping aside and tugging him by the arm to bring him beside her so that the assembled masses may get a look at him. His presentation is met with jeers, and his cheeks swell with shame. Before he can even attempt to retreat backwards, he feels Veronica's boot against his bound arms, and suddenly, he's on his face on the ground with her foot pressing his head to the stone.
"He is now my prisoner!" she cries, and the crowd screams its approval. Alfonse struggles to get up, but bound and weak as he is, he can scarcely manage to even lift his head to perceive his tormentors.
Veronica moves her foot to stomp on his arms, and he cries out before he can stop himself. "We have nothing to fear from Askr," she says, "for here is its beating heart beneath my boot." She lifts her foot and kicks him in the side, and he curls in on himself. His gown has ridden up his hips, and he's certain now that she can see his exposed bottom.
"Bruno!" she calls, and that man appears beside her. "Take the disgraced prince away. Put him in chains and lock him in the deepest cell in the dungeon." She crouches over him, jerks his head up by the hair. "Take a moment to enjoy the caress of the night wind against your cheek," she tells him, loud enough for her audience to hear. "This will be the last time you ever feel it."
She lets go, and Alfonse feels hands under the stomach, lifting him, and then he's tossed again over Bruno's shoulder, thankfully with his backside turned away from the crowd. Princess Veronica speaks to her people with more words, but he's too tired or perhaps too delirious to comprehend them.
Bruno brings him into the palace's cavernous entry hall and sets him on his feet on the cold flagstone, holding firmly to both his shoulders to keep him from toppling over. Alfonse looks around him warily, searching for the door that might lead down into the dungeons but finding no obvious suspects. All sorts of doors line the walls from almost every angle, and occasionally, a servant will emerge from one, admirably paying him no mind. A wide, black marble staircase serves as the hall's central attraction, branching off into opposite directions. Following it upward with his eyes, he finds that the ceiling is several stories high, terminating in an expansive skylight that dimly reflects the glow of the wrought-iron chandelier hanging down from it. Unlike his castle in Askr, which is built for utility, Embla's royal palace is an exercise in extravagance.
Princess Veronica enters minutes later, smiling in her uncanny way as she strides up to meet them. "Did you see how ecstatic they were?" she crows. "How amusing!"
When Alfonse fails to answer, she purses her lips. "Don't be ungrateful," she says. "Look, I have no designs of secreting you away to some deep, dark dungeon-that was all for a little show. I promised you a bath, didn't I?" She turns to Bruno. "Go ahead and untie him," she says. "Escort him to the bath and then to his room. I will see to him in the morning."
Alfonse looks up only to see the princess's retreating back as she ascends the staircase. Meanwhile, Bruno draws his knife and cuts away the ropes that have held him prisoner for nearly twenty-four hours. Alfonse wraps his arms around himself gratefully, wincing at the pain in his stiff shoulders. There are bright red welts around his wrists that he's sure are around his neck as well.
Without a word, Bruno takes hold of his upper arm and guides him through a broad archway behind the staircase. The corridor beyond it is softly lit with candles that illuminate the paintings on the walls. Most are of exquisite landscapes, the likes of which he witnessed firsthand these two days past, but there are portraits as well. Alfonse recognizes one of the previous emperor and another of the princess, but the rest are strangers to him. He wonders vaguely which, if any, depict the current empress or if Veronica has had any such painting removed in her absence.
After passing through three interconnected hallways and partway through a fourth, they at last arrive at a set of double doors. Bruno pushes through them, and Alfonse is shocked to be met with a blast of cold air, causing him to tear up.
"It's… outside?" he asks incredulously, rubbing at his eyes.
Bruno pulls him the rest of the way through the doors, then gives him a shove forward, releasing his hold on him at last. "Her Majesty's coveted open-air bath," he says. "Consider yourself lucky to have the privilege of using it.
Despite his exhaustion, Alfonse finds himself beyond impressed. They aren't entirely outside, as he initially suspected, but rather in a sort of courtyard, walled in on all four sides by enclosed corridors with downward-sloping roofs-the same corridors, he realizes, that they have just traversed. A neatly-tended garden flourishes around an enormous circular pool of carved white stone, and situated amongst the flowerbeds are two sneering gargoyles spitting streams of water from their mouths. The surface of the pool is scattered with rose petals, which Alfonse thinks must have been left for him only recently. Despite the chill of the wind, which occasionally blows in from on high, the air is warm with steam from what is undoubtedly a hot spring.
"Go," Bruno says. "I'll be inside waiting when you are finished."
"R-right," Alfonse says, a little overwhelmed. He waits for Bruno to leave, then approaches the edge of the pool, dipping his toe in. The water is hot but not uncomfortably so. He's about to pull off his gown when a timid voice behind him stops him in his tracks.
"E-excuse me, Your Highness…"
Alfonse whirls around to find a petite girl in a maid's uniform standing nervously in the doorframe, holding some kind of bundle in her hands.
"I'm very sorry for disturbing you, Your Highness," she says hastily, bowing low. "I've been sent to deliver these." She unwraps the bundle to reveal a bath towel, a bit of soap, and a clean gown identical to the one he's wearing now.
"Thank you," Alfonse says, stepping forward to accept the items from her. He looks at her curiously, causing her to shrink beneath his gaze. "You are…?"
"Felicia, Your Highness!" she supplies. "I'm a summoned hero from the Kingdom of-"
"Nohr," Alfonse finishes with a small smile. "Yes, I know of you." His smile fades nearly as soon as it appeared. "I'm sorry you're bound in a contract against your will here. Your world should have never been taken from you."
"Oh, it isn't all bad, Your Highness!" Felicia says brightly. "At least I don't get scolded here for making so many mistakes. In fact"-she taps her chin thoughtfully-"I don't think Her Majesty notices me much at all."
Alfonse raises his eyebrows but doesn't ask. The contract affects the mind as much as it does the body, he knows. She can't understand entirely how she's being manipulated, so there's no point in bringing it up.
"Oh, and if you could please undo your bandages," she adds, "I will tend to your wounds after your bath."
"Ah, yes," Alfonse says, glancing down at his wrapped thigh and feeling self-conscious all over again. Felicia has the decency not to follow his gaze.
"Then I'll be outside with Sir Bruno," she informs him. "Just let me know when you are ready for me." She pauses, then, almost shyly, asks, "I-is there anything else you require?"
Alfonse shakes his head. "No. Thank you, Felicia."
She beams at him. "Of course, Your Highness!" she chirps, and then she passes through the double doors and is gone.
As soon as she's gone, Alfonse returns his attention to his leg. The bandages come off easily enough, but the wound is worse than he initially suspected; he was hoping to not have to do it up again, but the cut is wide and jagged and only barely sealed over with the beginnings of new skin.
He divests of his gown before unraveling the other bandages around his abdomen and upper right arm. He resents the cleric for not using a stave on him; the wounds are tender and unsightly. He wonders if Veronica ordered her not to, to make him suffer, and his resentment, momentarily displaced, shifts back to her.
He dips into the water gradually, wincing when it reaches his thigh, then stomach, arm, and, finally, his sore wrists and neck. The pool is deeper than it appears from without, too deep for him to touch the bottom in the center. He contemplates, without any real seriousness, drowning himself and wonders if that might put a kink in Veronica's plans. No, probably not-he doesn't seem to have any real significance to her outside of the symbolic.
He leans back against the side of the pool and uses the soap to slowly clean up and down his body. He remembers the cleric's crude treatment of him, as if he were an object, and shudders, forcing the memory back. He passes the soap around his privates quickly, then moves on to his wounds. He scrubs them as firmly as he dares to for fear of reopening them. The last thing he needs, on top of everything, is an infection.
He soaks until the heat becomes unbearable, then climbs out of the pool, drying himself with the towel before wrapping it around his waist. After a few moments' hesitation, he approaches the door and, rather bashfully, calls, "Felicia? I'm ready for you." He isn't sure she's heard him until the door cracks open an inch and she cautiously pokes her head in. He steps back to give her space, feeling vey improper in his state of undress.
She enters carrying a med kit as well as a set of irons, giving him an apologetic look when she sees him staring at the latter. "Her Majesty said I was to put these on your feet when we left for your room," she says, but she lowers the hand holding them and then drops them to the ground with a clatter. "But if you promise not to hurt me or cause any trouble, I don't think anyone will mind if you don't wear them."
"Oh!" Alfonse says, surprised by the offer. "That's very kind of you." He smiles at her, and she smiles back. "You have my word. I won't cause any trouble, and I certainly won't hurt you."
She has him kneel on another towel as she deftly treats and wraps the wounds on his arm and abdomen as well as the rope burn at his wrists and throat. To his own great astonishment, his embarrassment at displaying his seminude form before her rapidly fades. Thinking on it, he realizes that the sensation is reminiscent of being back among comrades on the battlefield where he is no stranger to allowing clerics access to him. Felicia's eyes don't stray from her task at hand, and she's swift and efficient in her execution of it. She allows him to wrap his leg wound himself, even offering him the courtesy of turning away while he does it.
Once he finishes, he pulls on the new gown, reluctantly dropping the towel covering his lower half before giving her permission to turn back around.
"You're really good at this," he tells her, examining his neatly wrapped wrists.
"I've been practicing," she says with a rather goofy grin. "So I'm very glad to hear you say that, Your Highness!"
Bruno meets them outside the bath like he promised. He glances once at Alfonse's ankles, then to the shackles lying abandoned on the ground, but miraculously says nothing of it, merely gripping his arm and guiding him back through the maze of hallways with Felicia scampering to keep up behind them. They don't return to the entry hall but rather take a much smaller staircase to the fourth floor. A short turn finds them in a narrow corridor, and it's here that Bruno stops them before a nondescript oak door. He pulls back the bolt and turns the knob, and the three of them step inside.
It would be an ordinary room, Alfonse thinks, if not for the set of iron bars that divides it, making a prison cell out of an otherwise comfortable bedchamber. In one corner is a canopied bed with a thick, burgundy duvet and an unnecessarily large assortment of overstuffed pillows. A writing desk with a stool stands off to the side, fully equipped with paper, quills, and ink. Beneath a barred window is an elaborately upholstered tuffet and beside that, a bookshelf. To Alfonse's embarrassed relief, a chamber pot sits discreetly in the back corner.
Bruno removes a key from his belt and unlocks the cell door. Then he leads Alfonse by the arm and pushes him into the enclosure, closing and locking the door behind him. Alfonse turns around, reaches up, and curls his hand around a bar, feeling a sudden, strong mixture of anger, dismay, betrayal, and loneliness, though he does his best to rein it in.
"This is where you will be staying indefinitely and where you will spend your time whenever Her Majesty does not have use for you," Bruno says.
"Caged, like an animal," Alfonse mutters, mostly to himself, but Bruno hears it.
"Would you prefer to be shackled by the wrists and ankles in a cold cell like a criminal?" he asks him, and Alfonse shakes his head.
"No. This is infinitely better than I could have expected." He turns away from the bars, trying hard to blink back tears. He hardly knows why he wants to cry all of a sudden, only that the adrenaline and uncertainty of the past two days have finally worn off, leaving him feeling painfully hollow.
"Are you hungry?" Bruno asks him quietly after a moment, but Alfonse shakes his head again; his stomach feels weak and queasy and entirely incompatible with food at present. "Very well. There will be guards posted outside your door, and there is a handbell there on the windowsill-use it to signal a need for assistance, but do not abuse that privilege or it will be taken from you. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Alfonse says. "I understand. Thank you."
There's silence for a moment longer, and then he hears the door creak open and two pairs of feet shuffling out before it's closed again. The sound of the bolt being drawn across it is unmistakable. He waits a few moments anyway, to ensure he is alone. Then he collapses onto the bed, scrambling under the covers and wrapping himself in the downy sheets. Lying in a bed like this feels familiar, even comforting. He breathes in the clean smell of the linens and tries desperately to think of something, anything pleasant.
Silly Alfonse. There already are kinks in Veronica's plan. ;)
Next chapter will contain lewdness. What do you think will happen to this poor boy? What do you want to happen to this poor boy? Let me know in a review, and thanks as always for reading! =)