I absolutely LOVED episode 2 of this season. Lord have mercy!
This story, though, is COMPLETELY AU - obviously - but I have already written a big part of it and thought to upload it anyway. Only 16 short chapters, based on an article I read about finding a wife. After writing my Robert in Amative's latest chapter, this just came rolling out and I couldn't stop it. All in jest. I actually had loads of fun writing it.
The King, a Philosopher
Three years undead, two years crowned and one year behind on a wife. God bless the King.
Prologue.
He hated her. Aside from the fact that she was incredibly funny and his almost brother in law – if Jasper ever popped the question and God knew he'd been walking around with a ring for months now – loved her dearly – something about being best mates and shit – Robert was pretty certain he hated her.
Why was she even invited to functions like this?
But as he looked around he saw more unfamiliar faces than friendly ones and perhaps she did have a place here then, but he made a mental note to review the guest list thoroughly next time and inconspicuously scratch her name from it, just to prevent situations like this.
Situations in which she callously threw a bomb into the crowd and then happily skipped away to watch the world burn from a safe distance.
Little bitch.
He smiled politely as the Countess of Wessex told him of her cousin's oh-so-many redeeming qualities and how she dutifully attended service every Sunday.
'I'm sure she's wonderful,' he nodded, 'but truly, I am not searching for a wife just yet.'
The Countess looked disappointed.
'But that girl just said –'
That girl is out of her mind.
'She was just jesting,' he said instead, still smiling. Silently gnashing his teeth.
'Excuse me for a moment,' he said, kissing her hand like the chivalrous bastard he was.
He found his brother and sister near the pool, accompanied by their friends and Eleanor's not-boyfriend even though he accompanied her to all official functions and again, that damned ring he'd been carrying around.
'Where's that bloody friend of yours?' he asked Jasper, glaring at him. Jasper stared back unperturbed, one immaculately raised eyebrow the only form of emotion he was showing. Bloody brick of a man.
He corrected himself.
Bloody gorgeous brick of a man.
'Where is your friend?' he repeated.
'You should be more specific, Your Highness,' Jasper replied. Robert rolled his eyes.
'Of course, because you're little Miss Sunshine and you have thousands of friends running around,' he snapped. 'Save me the cheek. Where is Poppy?'
Eleanor grinned.
'What has upset you, brother dearest?' she asked, placing a hand on his forearm. He eyed it disdainfully and she tightened her hold, digging her nails into his skin.
Wasn't there a law making it punishable to lay hands on a King? Banishment from the Palace – from his bloody life – seemed proper penance.
'The presence of a commoner named Poppy,' he snarled, 'has upset me. And her yapping to several countesses about my wife hunting is rubbing me several wrong ways. So when you see her, tell her I'm looking for her so I can strangle her and knock some sense into that minuscule brain of hers.'
He rounded on Jasper, eyes flashing.
'And you,' he hissed. 'Stop inviting your damn plebeian friend to my bloody parties.'
'Noted,' Jasper replied drily and Robert felt anything but taken seriously.
'And I will be sure to tell Poppy once I see her,' Eleanor added. 'In the meantime, the Queen Mother is looking for you. Something about wife hunting and the Countess of Wessex' cousin.'
She grinned feral.
Jasper raised another eyebrow.
'Ah yes,' he nodded. 'Something biblical was being said as well. Because we all know how much you love to attend service.'
Of course they are all in on the plot.
He groaned, flipping both his sister and his – if it was up to him never bloody ever – brother-in-law the finger.
'Laugh while you can, my lovelies,' he said threateningly. 'Especially you, sister dearest. I'm going to see what Mother wants and then I'll show you lot who's King, bloody uncouth degenerates.'
Liam opened his mouth to say something smart, but one look from Robert had him close it again.
At least I have this one trained well.
He gave his other sibling – the ill-bred one – and the American – bloody hillbilly – another fierce glare.
'Assholes,' he muttered as he stalked away, in search of his mother.
He found her near the fountain, in the company of an older fellow – graying hair and glasses, Robert recognized him immediately as the Archbishop of Canterbury and sighed. The man had a daughter his age and had at the beginning of the little get-together subtly let him known she was both of marrying age and very much single – and – Gods forbid it – Poppy. He could barely hide his groan of irritation as his mother spotted him and beckoned him over.
'Robert,' she said smoothly. 'We were just discussing you.'
I bet you were.
He smiled, all teeth and no joy, and extended a hand to the bishop.
'I hope my mother and the young lady have not been bothering you, bishop,' he said, 'because I know from experience they are quite the chatterboxes, especially the maiden.'
He eyed Poppy sharply; she smirked at him, had the audacity to wink.
'We were actually just talking your marriage,' she grinned.
'Or better, lack thereof,' his mother added.
The two of them were smiling at him, and they were both terrifying in their own ways. Which was the lesser of two evils, he had no clue.
'I am sure the bishop did not come all the way here to speak of my romantic relations,' he started to say and again his mother smartly added, 'Or lack thereof.'
Poppy snorted behind her hand.
'Actually,' the bishop interjected, 'the lady had something extremely interesting to say.'
I bet she had. When I get her alone…
He practically leered at her, making a mental note to visit Cyrus' old torture chambers with her. He was certain there were some devious devices there, capable of delivering to her exactly the amount of agony he was wishing upon her at the moment. Perhaps the Iron Chair? Or the Head Crusher?
Yes!
He smirked.
Head Crusher would do.
He missed part of the conversation as his imagination got the best of him and his mother tutted displeased.
'Pay attention, Robert,' she said sharply. 'It is, after all, your future wife we are discussing.'
What?
He kept his face straight, but for the quirked eyebrow.
'Excuse me?' he asked flatly. Glanced at Poppy. She avoided his gaze and he worriedly frowned.
Double what?
'I was pleasantly surprised when she suggested it,' the bishop continued. 'And I think it's wonderful that you are so devoted to both the Faith and the Monarchy to go about it in such a way.'
'Am I?' he asked. 'Devoted to both the Faith and the Monarchy?'
'Of course you are, Robert,' his mother smiled. 'Therefore your commitment to finding a wife the Biblical way is commendable.'
She took his hand in both of hers – and for fuck's sake, his mother was scaring the bejesus out of him.
'I am proud of you, my Son,' she said sweetly. 'My King.'
'The Biblical way?' he repeated.
And he swore to all that was holy that if Poppy dared to laugh, dared to make one bit of a sound, he would murder her right where she stood.
With my bloody bare hands.
'Yes, dearest,' his mother smiled. 'You are of course the supreme governor of the Church of England so it is only right you find yourself a wife the biblical way.'
'Only right,' the Archbishop of Canterbury repeated, nodding almost feverishly.
He stared at all three of them, disbelieving. But his mother looked incredibly smug, the Archbishop positively giddy and Poppy –
That bloody tart was actually amused.
Her wide eyes weren't frightened. They were amused.
Bloody twinkling.
Fucking amused.
That bloody bint.
'Calliope here has not only contributed to this wonderful idea,' Helena continued, 'but as a member of the Government Communications Headquarters had also offered her assistance in finding you a wife.'
'The biblical way, of course,' Poppy added and even if the others didn't notice, her mirth was obvious to Robert.
Some response was required, he knew as they all looked at him, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and it felt like he was trying to stuff the entire Sahara down his throat.
His mother hooked her arm through the bishop's.
'At least one of my children,' she told him as she pulled him in a different direction, away from her son and Poppy, most likely noticing the throbbing vein above Robert's temple, 'knows how to choose his partner wisely.'
'Ah, yes,' the bishop could be seen nodding. 'The Princess and that American…'
'Don't even get me started,' the Queen Mother sighed dramatically.
Robert stared after them for a moment, his heart thumping.
He thought of two years ago, of sitting in Cartizze and punching that same American. Remembered hiring the American as his bodyguard, pushing him towards his sister and therefore inviting the man into his life.
And he turned slowly towards Poppy, eyes narrowed.
Inviting that into his life.
Should've just let Len be miserable. Should've banished Jasper from the country.
'Just so you know, Robert,' she started, and she at least had the grace to look abashed. 'This was not the plan. Everybody just kept asking us whether you had a girlfriend, who you were romantically involved with, if there would be wedding bells in the near future. So we just rolled with it. With the Countess and some others. With your mother.'
She smirked, unable to keep the façade of guiltiness up.
Demons have no conscience.
'I had no idea your mother would take it seriously. Or that he was the Archbishop of Canterbury.'
The large pectoral cross wasn't a dead giveaway? Or his bloody episcopal ring?
He stared at her, not knowing what to say.
'But,' she continued. 'I'm not sure how yet, but we'll get you out of this mess. Eleanor and Jasper will know what to do. Or Ashok. Certainly Gemma has a plan. Someone.'
She smiled at him, a captivating showing off of two perfect rows of white teeth meant to sweep him off his feet. He wasn't falling for it.
Bloody devil's spawn, this one.
'So,' he eventually said, uncomfortably, after a long silence. 'Your full name is Calliope. And what the fuck is the Biblical way?'