Daughter Of The Revolution: This one's for GreenAppleAddict who had wanted a POV of Alfred. Sorry it had been such a long time coming. I wrote this ages ago for you and just forgot to upload it. It's not as long as the previous chapter full of Ivan's POV but, meh, here it is. Hope you enjoy the peek into Alfred's head during his ordeal!
While the rest of the families who would lie, swindle, frame, and murder just to get the chance to sit upon the throne, Alfred was glad to have been born the second prince. Not only did he evade pressure from the courts but also the burden of sitting amongst the lords and ambassadors and other monarchies to settle issues with territory and trade and all the headaches. Being second meant no one would press for him to wed quickly. Being second meant no one would press for him to produce sons in need of heirs for the bloodline.
No, he was free of all those burdening expectations; he, Prince Alfred, the 1,776th prince of Americana.
As he grew he suspected that the nobles and even the people wished his birth order to be traded with his older brother for the sole reason that Alfred possessed a gift from their God and his brother, Crown Prince Jonathan, did not. To be honest, Alfred felt that the strength of the gods was useless in ruling a country and being its king compared to the scores of wisdom and discernment which his brother possessed. Alfred often expressed this opinion of his to the people but their continuance to worship him reasoned with his conscience that his supporting words for his brother's right to rule fell on deaf ears. It was all harmless praise though because his brother was still Crowned Prince and the people held a love for him as well.
The Americana monarchy prided itself in being close to its people being that the royal family were often seen amongst and in the streets, purchasing local produce, playing with the children, conversing with merchants, etc. Because of this Alfred knew every citizen in the capital city in which he was born and raised. The same was expected of him in other cities that his parents took him to to live for a time. There were times of course where Alfred and his siblings would have to stay inside the palace walls but that was only for school. Other times it was because of travel. Mostly, Alfred's father, King Samuel, traveled out to respond politely to invitations written by other rulers. Some occasions he would take with him his entire family, like, to see his mother's brother who ruled the kingdom of Britannia or to see his father's sister who was wed to the King of Canadiana.
The kings and queens wanted to get their children better bonded with their cousins. That was really the only reason for the young princes and princesses to travel. The other occasion would be the coronation of a new king. They don't happen often and so, be it a rival kingdom or not, most monarchy attend in due respect. Alfred only ever saw one and the only thing he remembered about it was that it was long and boring, but the food was tasty.
The young prince felt it easier to stay in the palace and in the city and let the lords and ladies visit them. Some would but when, say, a king or queen did then Alfred and his siblings would be told to stay in the nursery and to leave their father be because he was dealing with "important matters." Jonathan was always a good boy but Alfred had the tendency to forget his mother's orders and little Amelia was always following him around. So it just so happened to be the both of them to get their bottoms paddled for playing near the throne room while their father conversed with a king. Alfred more so for being a bad influence on his little sister.
His father had been more so upset. He usually never aways he attention from the guest he spoke with, especially if they were a king or queen, but he had gotten up from his throne and taken a hold of Alfred, pulling him out of the throne room and away from the eyes of the tall king he had been speaking with when Alfred and Amelia's playful giggles and adventurous sword play fight interrupted the rulers. Alfred had never seen his father so upset with him before. He looked absolutely furious but then all at the same time he looked frightened.
"Don't ever do that again, Alfred," His father bade with a firm shake. "Don't you let him see you. Don't you let him see you."
Alfred's father was the highest king in the land. Nothing frightened him because he was strong and had the most territory so Alfred was in a worried confusion trying to figure out what had distraught his calm demeanor. Later that day Alfred's faith in his father returned after observing from the nursery balcony as the king his father had been speaking to left quite quickly with his entourage in tow. He looked upset with his tense stride but just as soon as he reached the palace gates he stopped and turned. He looked up and saw Alfred.
Suddenly remembering his father's foreboding words Alfred dunked down to hide himself so to not let the king see him per his father's desperate wish. Seconds later he peeked back up to see if they had gone. They hadn't and the king was still looking toward him. This time he looked quite sad instead of the upset Alfred had previously witnessed. Alfred didn't know why but he dunked himself again into hiding and watched through the railing as the king slowly turned back around and finally left.
That was another reason why Alfred was glad he was second prince; he wouldn't have to concern himself with the customs of entertaining other kings and queens and steering himself from all haughty and offensive behavior and language. Jonathan could have it.
To avoid his father's wrath of interrupting him with his meeting and his mother's hand for leading his little sister into trouble again Alfred took to the city streets to play around. He made many friends young and old but his closest friend was a boy around his age by the name of David, or Davie as Alfred called him. Every day Alfred would come to his family's bakery and buy a cart full of bread that he ate all himself. The two would then run around the city playing heroic knight and bandit. Alfred was always the knight and Davie settled with the title of bandit fine.
Sometimes they even snuck outside the city walls to roll around in the mud and pick flowers. Davie liked them a lot and said he wanted to be a gardener. So Alfred swore he'd make him his royal gardener when he inherited a manor to the west of their territory. Davie liked that idea.
With the rapid expansion of the Kingdom of Americana there was many people coming in and out of the city and Alfred became well known by the travelers and his face was recognized throughout the kingdom. He was a star amongst his siblings and cousins and ranked as a favorite prince throughout the kingdoms. Not many people hated Alfred but as for his father and power of his kingdom that was an entirely different story.
Alfred still remembered the year leading up to the war.
"You're moving, Davie?" They had both just turned nine years of age and now Alfred's best friend had to ruin his birthday with this bad news.
"My father has been wanting to venture north," Davie explained. When news of the new settlement came many people jumped to be a part of it, and Davie's family was among them.
"Then I want to go too," Alfred pouted.
"You belong here," Davie reasoned. "There's no place for a prince in a settlement."
"Promise me you'll let me visit?" Alfred bade. Davie smiled and nodded.
Alfred never got the chance to visit before the settlement in the north was destroyed and war was declared. Alfred had been heartbroken over the loss of his friend and whole heartedly supported his father's declaration. Now he couldn't wait to grow and begin training as a knight so he could avenge his friend's death as well as the others who died with him, and of course uphold the honor of his kingdom.
From history Alfred knew his kingdom had not lost a war in a long time. They had never gotten into a war with the Kingdom of Russ before and when Alfred realized who the king of said kingdom was he understood their conflict. As far as Alfred knew his father and the King of Russ, King Ivan, have been on nonspeaking terms for three years. Remembering how upset the king looked when Alfred had spied a glance at him all those years ago from the nursery balcony he felt it had only been a matter of time before the two declared war to ease their internal tensions with the other.
Border issues, that's what his brother informed him. But Alfred did not see the Russes killing innocent civilians as acceptable with the excuse that they were protecting their borders. He shared his father's anger in that, but Jonathan continually bade for negotiations and for peace. They never came and now Alfred was a knight in full title and the war had come on ten years.
Alfred's mother wished he not become a knight like his brother but Alfred wanted to help finish this war and he knew with his God-blessed strength he could and so he fought and he fought hard.
It hurt to lose a battle and retr—run away like a coward, but losing lives that could have been saved hurt worse. His heart for his men was adored and the worry of his mother was misplaced. He had yet to sustain an injury in battle and felt himself truly blessed. That thought shot right out the window when a blade cut in between his shoulder armor. After his fall his men panicked even though Alfred insisted they press forward. They never did and they lost the battle.
Alfred was taken to a fort-city to heal. He healed fast but his father and his brother insisted he remain in the city to heal fully and rest. His injury had scared his family and they were not so eager that he return to the front as he was from reading their letters.
He decided to heed their concern but regretted it in the end.
His older brother had taken his place on the front and was slain. Alfred and their kingdom mourned his loss. He'd been so heartbroken that he refused to sleep and instead trained for their next battle. Intelligence never came in to inform Alfred of the battlefield because they'd all been slain and it was a screaming woman that Alfred knew as Martha from their capital city who came crying to their fort-city exclaiming that the White City was under siege.
Alfred never asked for his men to come but their steeds followed close behind as he drove his horse to death to make it to the capital city. He didn't care if shouldn't have come, his family was in that city. He was the only one who could save them.
The only largest object Alfred could think about that he moved with his strength was the cobbler's house. It had been Davie's idea since the old shoemaker's home sat near a vacant lot. One day they'd move it left. The next he'd move it across the street. Just the look on that befuddled man's face was enough to keep he and Davie giggling for weeks. Now Alfred's fist brought down the White City's wondrous marble gate.
It didn't take long for the pike men to take out his steed. He had flipped over the soldiers and managed to avoid their spear heads, some of his men weren't so lucky. Taking out his sword Alfred swung it so hard the first line of pike men were thrown away. Now Alfred and his men fought their way up toward the palace.
The entire city was overrun with Russ soldiers. The sounds of dying and decimated citizens rung in Alfred's ears as well as the dying gasps of his knights behind him. The prince had to press on. He had to get his to his family and nothing would stop him.
Offering up prayers to his God, Alfred fought on. His arms grew heavier and now he could no longer feel the weight of his sword in his hands. Looking down he found the weapon to be gone. He must have dropped it long ago. Even a man blessed with the strength of gods exhausted to a point and Alfred was tired. Looking up he realized he still had more ways to go before he reached the palace. It seemed so far away and so many obstacles stood in between.
With a heavy sigh of weariness Alfred took his opponents. He could see their unease in surrounding him. He knew of their fear of him and he planned to use their superstition against them if it would help him continue to fight to his family.
With a start Alfred turned himself around quickly at the sound of clapping. The soldiers now parted to reveal the form of a large man dressed in dark armor. The breastplate encrusted with rubies and diamonds. Sashes, a golden crown in design of the Kingdom of Russ; King Ivan looked every bit a crowned ruling monarch. The only article that looked out of place in all his majestic glory was a worn scarf wrapped around his neck but Alfred barely had time to concern himself with the fashion of the Russ monarchy as the king approached him.
Alfred hadn't expected to see him there in the besieged city. The King of Russ had never inserted himself in any previous battle. This had been the first time Alfred had actually laid eyes on him in the flesh. The portraits and sketches did not capture the sheer menace in the man's aura and Alfred, for the first time in years, found himself shaken with fright.
"Bravo, Prince Alfred," the enemy king said. His voice was deep but held a small playful tone in its pitch. It confused Alfred and let him know to keep his guard up. "Oh, or should I address you as King Alfred?" The mocking tone made Alfred sick to his stomach and his fists clenched with the need to lay against the man's skull. He could do it. He could leave the Kingdom of Russ with no king. Alfred knew Ivan was the last. It would be so easy right now. Why he remained silent battled him.
The King of Russ smiled at his reaction to the address in title. "Big brother is dead as well as the father." No! He was lying. "So," Ivan held out his arms as if in exclamation. "Congratulations in your inheritance, though I wouldn't know a soul who would want to be king over this piece of ruble."
The White City, Alfred's kingdom's pride and joy was reduced to a pile of ash. Bodies littered the streets. Blood ran down the steps of the palace. Gone, everything was gone. Alfred's family . . .
Turning toward the king who looked quite pleased with his triumph over the enemy city an anger arose inside Alfred. He needed to avenge his family's honor, to make this foreign king fear Alfred's bloodline. The bloodline he so foolishly cut.
"You son of a bitch!"
Alfred attacked. He aimed for the king, looking to break his skull right off his spine but the king was quicker than he assumed he was. Alfred found armored fist striking air, building, even other soldiers who had been unfortunate to stand in Alfred's way on his assault on the king.
His eyes stung and his face felt hot with exertion but Alfred continued to charge the King. Just one hit. Just one hit and he'd be dead.
Alfred's eyes widened when the king reached out and caught his arm as it swung toward his frame. In horror he watched as ice crept up his gauntlet freezing it at the joint, the chill biting into his arm. Alfred pulled his arm away and hugged it close to his chest upon observing that the king had taken off one of his own gauntlets, the palm of his pale hand covered in frost.
Alfred knew he was gifted by his God, but there were other gods with entire countries devoted to them. There was no doubt in his mind that those other gods would bless and curse their worshipping subjects. He just hadn't known that King Ivan was one of them.
Alfred could not fight an element, not even with the strength of every god known to existence. But Alfred could not escape. Looking around it seemed as if King Ivan's entire army surrounded him. Was Alfred really the last standing Americanan in the city? His heart sank at the thought.
"You see?" Alfred turned back to the king, eyeing him warily. He did not envision meeting his end with chill and ice. "You are not the only one possessing an unworldly ability." The "Blessed" that is what people like Alfred and Ivan were called. They were very rare, more so for monarchies.
Alfred gapped at seeing the king bend down to press his palm against the street. As expected ice formed around until it crept up toward him and touched his boot. Alfred jumped up and pressed himself against a building wall to avoid the ice underfoot.
"Give up, Alfred, I have won." As if King Ivan could use his name casually without its honorary prefix like a close friend. Alfred glared at him in hate. The king, however, continued, "The war is over." He began to trek closer toward Alfred. The prince really had nowhere to run and so he tensed when the tall king stood before him, looking at him so strangely. Then he touched him but Alfred swore to stand his ground and not turn away in cowardice. "There is nothing for you here anymore," King Ivan said to him as if he needed to convince Alfred. "The monarchy has died. The people my slaves. Without a functioning kingdom your colonies will perish."
Alfred knew this. King Ivan did not need to remind him of the harsh reality. Americana had lost the war as well as its life. The kingdom Alfred so loved was gone and he feared would never come back. Their numerous enemies would never allow its resurrection and the people without an heir to the throne would despair and instead weep in remembrance than exclaim in hope of return.
"Then why not kill me too? !" Alfred hated crying because tears made people look weak. His father had told him to never let the people see such moisture on his face because he was their prince and hero, and neither were capable of producing tears. Even when relatives passed away Alfred was sworn to stay dry-eyed. But he was crying not only for the decimation of the royal bloodline but for the fall of the Kingdom of Americana. Oh, the land that Alfred loved and his heart beat for and so many have died for. All in vain now. All in vain. How could Alfred accept that? He couldn't and so he could not accept Russ as his new Kingdom. "I'll be a horrible slave, you hear me!" Alfred swore to create a hell for whoever purchased him. He'd do it where they'd have to kill him. He would die if he was enslaved, he knew it. Freedom to enslavement? Alfred would rather die.
"I know you will," King Ivan responded to his threat with a simple chuckle as if he didn't believe Alfred, well the last Prince of Americana was dead serious. "But, you'll make a lovely bride." What did he just say? Alfred must have heard wrong. The king was a liar anyway.
"What are you say—AH!" Alfred jumped from the wall as ice crept up the wall as well but to his horror the ice reached out to him, forming arms and a body along with it. The thing looked like King Ivan as it wrapped its arms around his breastplate. He could feel his armor locking up from the chill. Alfred had never felt so utterly helpless in his life.
"I have waited thirteen years, Fredka," King Ivan said as his ice clone carried Alfred closer to the frost king. You have waited for me too, da?"
The king was insane but Alfred was powerless to stop him from leaning in closer and pressing his lips to his. Alfred had never kissed before in his life. It was expected seeing how the war consumed most of his teenaged life. The fact that his first kiss was taken had not bothered him. Not only were his lips cold, making Alfred feel as if they absorbed the very heat from his own but afterwards a frost forming and yet he could not pull away because of the ice man holding him. The tongue that later pressed into his mouth was even more cold, feeling like an icicle.
No, this couldn't be happening to him. King Ivan was a liar. He hated Americanans especially the monarchy which he killed and would undoubtedly kill Alfred as well. He was bad blood to the King of Russ, nothing but a spot to cleanse from the earth. He did not care for him and he certainly did not want to wed him. Alfred had been hearing things. He had all day. He could still hear the cries of his people now but he knew they were faux sounds because everyone in the city was dead. Dead. Just like his mother, his father, his sister, his brothers.
"Do not cry, my love. I will take care of you." The King of Russ sounded sincere but it was all lies because the King of Kingdom of Russ was a liar. His father told him so.
"You killed them all," Alfred cried out. He was sobbing now and with this weakening sorrow enveloping his body the aches of the battle panged throughout his body and he shook in his loud sobs as hot tears ran down his cheeks. "My family." The sobs leaving Alfred's mouth were pathetic but that was what he felt—pathetic.
"Da," came the ice king's answer like it was a casual subject. "It was because they got in our way, my love. It is best that they're gone."
Before Alfred knew it he was falling. The ice man holding him had released him and he fell right into that mad king's arms. He couldn't move. He could feel the stiffness in his armor.
"This city's mine, Alfred," King Ivan spoke up.
Alfred could feel his chilling hand running through his hair, freezing the golden strands, but Alfred was never chilled for long. Some king of heat inside him melted the frost played across his skin. To Alfred's dismay the frozen armor stayed in its frozen state.
"If you wish I can give it to you as a wedding present. It can be your summer home, da?" Alfred felt utterly sick but more so distraught with sorrow. He could not stop sobbing. "Please, my love, the sight of your tears hurt me." Again, King Ivan sounded sincere in his plead for Alfred to cease his tears but his concern was twisted. This man killed Alfred's family, why would he expect him to remain solemn? No, the horrors he's seen and heard. The sight of his White City, the news of his family. Those dead in the streets could not offer their God up any tears and so Alfred did. He sobbed as he was stripped of his golden armor and bound.
He was taken to King Ivan's capital city. Alfred had never seen it before. He's heard accounts of its icy walls and eternal snowfall. Now those accounts were verified as Alfred examined for himself the blizzard surrounding the city.
Even if the king had explained his want to wed the disheartened Americanan, Alfred had expected to be placed in a dungeon. Why? Because King Ivan was a liar and all he wanted of Alfred was to see him tortured and broken so to downgrade the fallen Americanan Kingdom even more. No, Alfred was placed in a comfortable room and given servants to wait upon. Little by little Alfred was beginning to realize King Ivan did indeed intend to wed him.
The notion baffled Alfred. Monarch marriages were for alliances and territory only. The dealings with heirs always came later. Alfred had nothing to offer the King of Russ. He was no longer entitled to any honorary name. He certainly had no territory to give the King. As for alliances, how could a kingdom ally itself with a fallen kingdom?
Alfred was confused and mostly homesick. All of Alfred's windows were covered white with snow. The windows pointed southward where his once kingdom lay. Alfred missed it to death. His longing often tricked his body into skipping meals, many meals.
The servants tried their best to coax him to eat but Alfred opted to stare out those windows toward his kingdom than offer his defeated body any sustenance. It didn't take long for the servants' complaints to reach the king's ear and when he showed up at Alfred's room the boy was surprised. What did he care if Alfred starved anyways? But the king forced him to eat. He sometimes used his ice clone to hold Alfred down and force the food into his mouth. He didn't like Russ food.
"My love, are you trying to kill yourself? Eat."
The king was in his room again. Alfred hated his visits so he continued to lay on his bed with his back turned to the king standing with a steaming bowl of soup. Even though he did not struggle again Alfred could not bring himself to look at the king.
To his surprise there was no force feed this time. No, instead Ivan laid himself next to him and touched and kissed him. Alfred was beginning to get used to this. After every force feed King Ivan would touch him and give him a kiss to his food-smeared lips.
But Alfred was not fond of Ivan's cold hands against his skin. He grabbed his wrist. He didn't know why. Alfred honestly didn't know why he continued to struggle. He wouldn't be able to escape this place, the winter storm outside would not allow him to.
The king chilled him. Alfred knew it was a sign for him to let go but Alfred wondered what it would be like . . . to snap off the king's hands. Would he still be able to use his God-abilities?
Alfred just let go. It didn't matter what the king did to him. Nothing mattered anymore to the Americanan. Well, maybe one thing: the truth. Constantly the king would lie to him and because of it Alfred continually found his heart sunken, especially right now when Ivan said, "I love you, Alfred. Know this. Everything I did, I did for you."
Was the King of Russ that deranged?
"Killing my family and then tearing me from my kingdom was your way of telling me you love me?"
When Alfred was looking up at the king he felt his eyes sting. He looked utterly pathetic in front of the King of Russ but he couldn't seem to understand the king at all and it hurt so much to be lied to.
Of course King Ivan simply smiled at him, like he always does.
"You may not remember this, Fredka, but when you were very young you attended my coronation," King Ivan said. Alfred vaguely remembered the one he went to with his parents and siblings. Amelia was just a toddler around that time. "The very moment my eyes beheld your beauty I fell in love with you." Alfred was, what, five years old? "I politely approached your father and asked for you hand in marriage. In my show of respect for you I offered gems, gold, silver, thousands of miles of territory, but do you know what your father said, hm?"
Wait, King Ivan came to his kingdom only once as Alfred recalled. It was when . . . no . . . was that when Ivan . . .?
"He denied me you in favor that you wed one more your age. How cruel, da? To deny the one I love from me."
Why hadn't Alfred's father told him this? Was that the reason for their war? Could all that have been avoided if Alfred would have been given to King Ivan to wed?
"So you started a war," Alfred reasoned from his revelations.
"Ah, your father started the war by moving settlements into my territory," so said the King. "I was simply defending my borders but, Alfred, you must know that a call to war allows many things."
The king went on to explain the ways of war. Alfred knew all of it which was why he trembled with the need to cry. Ivan simply kissed him in a way Alfred assumed to comfort. Nothing about him or his explanation was comforting.
Pulling away Alfred turned his eyes from the king. Now he understood why his father had been so afraid to give him to King Ivan.
"My father knew what he was doing when he refrained me from you." He dared stare the upset king down. "He knew I didn't belong in a cruel kingdom like yours."
Alfred didn't care if he had pushed King Ivan to anger as the older man grabbed a hold of his jaw tightly and bit his frost into his skin. He was now seeing what his father had seen: an angry, dangerous king who would no doubt mistreat his bride . . . especially that of a six year old child bride.
"The wedding will come," King Ivan assured darkly. "Da, you do now and let me make something clear." The king was pressing closer now, lips floating just above Alfred's. "You will swear your loyalty to this cruel kingdom as its Queen. And know that I have every intention on taking what is mine by right on our wedding night."
Did people in Russ threaten those they hailed they loved? Because Alfred had just been threatened about his impending submission. That was all the king wanted, right? Just a puppet queen and a warm body to lay under him.
The King of Russ didn't care.
The King of Russ didn't care about how Alfred felt in his capital city.
The King of Russ didn't care if Alfred hungered for the foods grown in Americanan soil.
The King of Russ didn't care how Alfred's heart continued to sink inside him.
The King of Russ didn't care that Alfred was terrified of the upcoming wedding.
The King of Russ didn't care Alfred was homesick; that all he wanted was to be around his people, if in shackles it mattered not.
That King of Russ didn't care that Alfred was indeed in depressed mourning over the violent loss of his family and kingdom. Perhaps if that king concerned himself more with the reasons Alfred would not speak to him, not look at him, not eat, not sleep then Alfred would press on and remain strong for his people.
If there was one thing Alfred discovered about himself during his enslavement it was of how weak he truly was. Since his birth he had been blessed by their God; ordained as His holy warrior with his given strength. He was near worshiped by his people. Look at him now. Physically he was still strong but all the strength in the world and in heaven above could not fight against the utter despairingly press of emotional turmoil.
Alfred had cried so much he could no longer produce a tear for the lost. Despite seeing tears as a show of weakness Alfred swore he'd cry all he could in honor of those who could not. His heart had taken the most damage aside from his pride. It hurt him every day that it was unbearable. Alfred didn't know what to do and felt that if it didn't heal soon then he'd die.
Once upon a time Alfred had been a firm believer of just deserts; that if you did wrong then you'd be punished and if you did right then you'd be rewarded. Alfred didn't understand; had he done something wrong to deserve this torture of body, mind, and spirit? He should have been killed along with his family. It was only fair, death being an easier release than this continuous hell.
The King of Russ' idea of comfort was misplaced. Alfred felt no ease in his words, his touches, or his kisses. Nothing. His own presence served as an attempted form of comfort, Alfred could see it in the way the king stood near him, but of the reverse reaction Alfred was churning in unease. He could no longer let the pressing weight of his depression lull him to sleep filled with night terrors. Even that luxury was taken from him.
So the days grew longer and the demons stronger.
Alfred longed to see the sun again, but it was hidden behind heavy-laden snow clouds. The prince longed to ride through golden fields of Americana, like the plains the White City once resided on. Hills and mountains of white surrounded the landscape around him now and Alfred was growing sick of the color.
He wanted to feel the rays of the warm sun above and the gentle winds of the south. His skin was much too pale that Alfred liked. He felt he was a living corpse; he felt so little and faded in vibrant hue. For one so proclaiming his love and adoration of him the King of Russ did not seem to hold much concern for his health. Yes he would continue to visit and force the Americanan to feed but of everything else he was blinded.
Did Alfred want him to tell him in assurance that all was well? No.
Did Alfred want him to hold him? No.
Did Alfred want to be showered with rich and expensive gifts to settle him into this new environment? No.
Alfred wanted none of those things. But he needed comfort; a friend to weep with and carry the burden of mourning alongside him because that bitter sadness was killing him and no one saw it.
The servants were all busy with preparations for the upcoming wedding. The cooks were baking, the seamstresses sewing, the chamber servants setting up each room to house nobility. The castle was transformed quite quickly after the wedding date was officially set.
Even King Ivan found himself busy in signing the numerous invitations being sent out in cart-fulls. The change in atmosphere tempted Alfred's body to move and wander throughout the long dark halls. Oh how King Ivan's palace differed from Alfred's. Russ' halls were long and dark, dim candle light as well as tapestry.
Suits of armor bearing weapon aligned the hall Alfred found himself wondering. The design and shape of armor was Russ . . . as everything else was. Continually Alfred felt like a foreigner in this place. Why wouldn't he? An Americanan surrounded by Russ was bound to come off as misplaced. And he was.
Even their art differed. While the once Kingdom of Americana used stained glass to offer portrait for the monarchy the Kingdom of Russ used frames of gold and silver and a plate painted with colored oils.
Alfred was now in a hall bearing so many portraits. He could tell they were that of royalty. It was the King of Russ' family. The most recent shown King Ivan alone in ceremonial garb. Before him there was a portrait of a family. Alfred assumed it to have been the king's parents and siblings.
King Ivan looked like his mother. The previous Queen of Russ sat down in the picture. Next to her stood a small girl who wore the same menacing glare as the father king in the portrait. A younger Ivan stood next to the hard-eyed king while an older sister stood just beside him.
Alfred hadn't known King Ivan had siblings. He had assumed him to have been alone in his family. He had acted as such and so the assumption was quick to rise. They must have passed away some time ago because Alfred had seen none of them in his stay there. He wondered how King Ivan had felt when he lost them. Did he shed any tear? Offer any mournful wail? Leak out any sob? Or . . . had he remained calloused and uncaring like he did the day he killed the family of the one he claimed to love? Alfred envisioned the latter the most.
What troubled Alfred the most was the painted image of the King of Russ' mother. Despite no one offering a smile for the portrait the Queen mother looked morbidly unhappy. The artist of the picture really captured her dissatisfaction. Now a dread began filling Alfred's gut, rising up until it was a bile in his throat. In his mind there was a new image beside the solo portrait of King Ivan, it was that of he and the king, Alfred now officially titled as the Queen of Russ. The future artist had captured their images and their emotions. There stood King Ivan in rich garb looking as regal as ever and his Queen, Alfred, standing by his side with the same look as Ivan's mother. The emotions captured in the portrait were that of sadness, distress, unease, and happiness shattered.
Alfred could not live like that. It wasn't right. Not at all.
Quickly the prince made leave and as soon as he found himself in the cluttered halls being prepared by the servants. He walked around surprisingly unnoticed. Alfred was glad. He wanted to fade away and vanish. He wanted to see just how important he was so claimed to be. He would not be disappointed whatsoever if his memory slipped from the minds of everyone. He deserved it for having failed Americana.
Slipping through another hall, Alfred found himself in a large room. It didn't take long before he realized it was the marital chambers. The servants had just come and gone in the room carrying oils, incense, and treasures to stack up like trophies to woo with. It was a very nice room. The only other room Alfred could hope to compare it with would be that of his mother and father's chambers. Fit for a king and his queen.
Alfred turned to the bed. It was large and draped in dark sheets. That was Alfred's end. King Ivan would take the last of him on that bed on their wedding night. After which Alfred would lose his identity. He would no longer be an Americanan. He would no longer be Prince Alfred as he was born into this world as. He would thence forward be Queen Alfred, a resident of the Kingdom of Russ.
Something wet slid down Alfred's cheek and crashed against marbled floor below. And here the prince thought he could cry no longer. Bowing his head he sobbed. He cried until the servants returned and notified the head servant about Alfred's whereabouts.
"Alfred, you really shouldn't be here," Toris bade as he touched the young boy and attempted to lead him out of the room.
The brunette looked genuinely concerned for the prince, but he could offer no comfort. He knew of the fate awaiting the Americanan Prince, all of the servants did and so no one questioned him when he would visit the room in its process of transformation. They let him do as he pleased even as he slid a small dagger underneath the pillows placed symmetrically on the bed.
As faithful servants they should have warned their king of this possible danger but though the title of servant was given to the workers in the castle they were all conquered slaves—just like Alfred. All of them wished doom on their king and prayed to their gods his bloodline vanish from the face of the earth.
Toris, however, had ceased long ago to hate the king. Yes he came from a conquered kingdom like so many others but he had a good memory. He remembered other such attempts on the king's life, all of which were thwarted. The would-be assassins were frozen solid and shattered into lifeless pieces. He didn't know what would become of Alfred if he so crossed this line. Toris liked the prince, all of the slaves did, he was beautiful and bright, but like the others Toris could not find the courage to offer any warning because he was God-Blessed like King Ivan.
Two Blesseds clashing made it a curse and no one wanted to stand in between either. So, like the others, Toris remained quiet and observing.
Alfred looked magnificently handsome on the wedding day. The royal tailors had done a good job dressing him in the design of his kingdom. But he was quiet; as he was dressed, as he came to stand beside King Ivan, even as the priest looked worried and a little more than reluctant to wed him to his king who refused to swear allegiance vocally. The king however could not wait to make their marriage official and so spoke for Alfred when he was silent because silence was acceptance in the Kingdom of Russ.
His wedding day; one would think Alfred should be happy. Marriage was a sacred allegiance and meant for eternity. Some kingdoms allowed their king to wed more than one bride but Americana and Russ were alike in that their monarchy opted to take on one queen. Even in such Alfred was not at ease at the knowledge that he would be King Ivan's only—until a mother was needed for an heir of course.
Alfred walked to the king, he stood beside him, he did not pull away when their arms were ceremonially bound together, nor when King Ivan pulled him close and kissed him before the entirety of the world. He did all of these motions but Alfred was near dead inside. A hallow shell doing as it was told.
As he sat next to his husband while the wedding feast raged on Alfred's dull eyes scanned all of the guests around. All smiling, laughing, eating, drinking. He couldn't help but feel that this—this marriage between he and King Ivan of Russ—was inescapable. After learning of the King's earlier proposal Alfred felt that King Ivan would have stopped at nothing until Alfred was proclaimed his queen.
Alfred would not have minded wedding him all those years ago. He knew his father was just protecting his innocence and, given his age, it was not proper in Americana that a boy of six years wed. But if that had happened, if his father would have given him away, then his family would have been a part of the crowd gathered. Alfred doubted his mother and father would have offered a smile for the newly wedded but they would be here with them, their presence comforting Alfred as his much older husband held his hand and promised to care for him 'til death.
His big brother would be the one threatening King Ivan to stay good to him while Amelia would likely have been the one to visit Alfred the most in this frozen kingdom. Alfred would not have gotten to grow with Jan but now that Alfred dwelt on these thoughts he soon wished this early marriage had come to pass.
Alfred had been a strong boy, even at that age. He knew he would have been able to cope with a young marriage to Ivan. No, Alfred probably wouldn't have been so close to Amelia. No, Alfred wouldn't have seen Jan's birth. No, there wouldn't have been a friend he called Davie.
Alfred loved his family. He had so many memories made with each of them. Would he have traded all of those pure happy times just so they could live on without any recollection of him?
Yes.
But it was too late for any of those lifesaving choices and now all Alfred wanted to do was be with them again. He's made up his mind and chosen his own salvation from this living hell he's currently trapped in. By now Alfred knew well of his husband. He meant to keep him by his side because he wanted to. Alfred felt no love, no concern. Alfred may be queen of the kingdom but not queen of the king.
Alfred's mother was loved very much by his father. Despite their marriage being arranged King Samuel had been kind to Alice and let love develop in time. Alfred greatly doubted that any love would come from his and Ivan's union. He would not have his parents' marriage.
Fate delivered him into the hands of the King of Russ and if fate would not deliver him out then his heart would stop beating. Alfred knew it. So he would deliver himself out.
Perhaps he should have pulled away from King Ivan as he led them to their marital chambers. Perhaps he should have turned his face away when King Ivan kissed him. Perhaps he should have struggled to keep that King's hands off of his undressed form. But he didn't.
Alfred allowed the ice king to lay atop of him and allowed him to have his way with him. This was all King Ivan wanted wasn't it? He'd taken it. He'd taken Alfred's innocence and with that the last of anything else that belonged to him.
Queen Alfred cried. Everything that he knew and cared for was gone. Taken before its time. Alfred had nothing no matter everything that King Ivan gave him, the servants, the gems, the gold, the furnish, the clothing, none of those things could satisfy him. Alfred longed for his mother to cry into her arms, but instead it was King Ivan would caught his tears with his chilling kisses and cold caresses.
It was then Alfred realized he could never be a queen of the Kingdom of Russ. The land so cold had nothing to offer Alfred and in return he had nothing to offer the kingdom.
Alfred had nothing left to give.
It was called love making, the sacred dance between a husband and his bride. Alfred felt no love. King Ivan gave him pleasure only temporarily for a temporary body, but as for his heart? Well, the king might attempt to kill the frozen organ to his official queen, but as stated before: Alfred had nothing more to give.
His husband held him like he wanted him; his kisses did emit a passion, as did his caresses a gentleness. But Alfred was in such a state that he could take nothing in, no comfort, no love, not even threats that Alfred had taken into his heart. He was near dead, and he was the only one who realized it.
When the king was finished with him and laid atop and inside him, sleeping, Alfred found no ease into sleep. He was exhausted. King Ivan had taken him so many times. Yet Alfred could not sleep. He knew why of course. He had already realized long ago that his eyelids would not close in this life. Still, he needed to rest because he was so very, very tired.
Reaching up Alfred found the dagger he'd hidden under the pillows. He gripped it tightly and pulled it out into view. It was of simple design but its purpose predestined.
Holding it high Alfred slid the silver blade across the broad back of his husband whilst he slumbered. It was interesting to see a frost fall in the wake of the blade's path making Alfred wonder how the ice king might be killed. It was not he who wished to kill King Ivan, maybe once upon a time but now Alfred's task was for his own peace of mind and killing King Ivan was not it despite the king reining in responsibility of killing the royal family of Americana, Alfred's family.
Then, Alfred remembered King Ivan telling him he did it—he killed his family—so that they could be together.
Alfred would have sacrificed the comfort of the borders of Americana if only he had known what the King of Russ had wanted. He would have gladly accepted Ivan's proposal if he had known during the war. If his father had just told him then they would all still be alive, then millions would not have died in vain. King Samuel, Queen Alice, Price Jonathan, Princess Amelia, Prince Jan, Davie. Alfred would know that they were alive even though he wouldn't be physically with them.
If only Alfred had known then he wouldn't have to feel so ashamed, so broken. He wouldn't be laying there looking up at King Ivan as the king awoke and pulled himself from him. Alfred wouldn't be reciting his family's names to try to show his husband how much he cared for them. Alfred was depressed by Ivan's lack of care.
If Alfred would have known that to stop the deaths of his people, his friends, his family required for him to give himself to the ice king then he would have without a second thought. There was a chance he could have loved Ivan with a heart not yet broken and arms to hold him with assurance. But Alfred never knew, and because of that his spirit was so violently crushed that only his God and that of the presence of his family could mend. There was only one way to see them and his God.
Alfred could tell when he raised the dagger into the view of his husband that the man assumed he would attack him. The look in his eyes told him so. Alfred didn't want King Ivan's life. He wanted his freedom.
It didn't hurt as much as Alfred had thought it would as he plunged the dagger into his own heart. When King Ivan pulled it out it hurt and when King Ivan cried it hurt.
In the end Alfred was not overcome with comfort of the knowledge that he'd be reunited with his family again and his soul healed. In the end Alfred was baffled and confused over why the King of the Kingdom of Russ had cried so loudly over his body. Alfred was confused over why King Ivan's tears felt so heavy with anguish as they rolled down the pale man's cheeks. He just couldn't understand why those amethyst eyes looked so haunted with sorrow.
Ivan had once said how much he loved Alfred, the boy only assuming his proclaimed love meant obsessed lust for a tyrant king. Now, as Alfred's curiosity and need for answers kept his spirit still he stood beside King Ivan and looked for the truth. And Alfred found it.
King Ivan never remarried after Alfred's passing. He never even sought the comfort of bed maidens to warm him at nights. The King of Russ looked so cold in the nights that Alfred would wrap his arms around him hoping he would lay his head down for easing slumber, but the king soon forsook dream and laid awake in the cold dark nights.
The king was heartbroken because he had indeed loved. Even after understanding this Alfred remained at his side in prayer that Ivan sleep, that he cease his own torment and that he care for himself.
Alfred wondered if Ivan could feel his presence at times. He swore the king would look directly at him and then he spoke as if speaking to him, like he knew he was there with him listening.
Over time Alfred watched King Ivan transform. He had taken his body back to the White City and buried him in the valley surrounding. The White City was rebuilt in its old likeness by Ivan's own treasures and Americanans set free to live in the city by the King's own decree.
A broken heart can do many things. One, it can press down heavily on your spirit until you can take it no longer, or it could change you into someone you never were before. Ivan changed and Alfred wondered if he had to die for this to come to pass.
Seeing him new and his capability to change Alfred felt he could have loved King Ivan in life. But that was a possibility lost and with the truth in hand Alfred's spirit felt at ease. After seeing the change in the King of Russ Alfred had forgiven him and in show of it Alfred sent him a gift in the form of a flower. He was glad that the king liked them; even his own people flocked around the tall and large blossoms.
But even so Alfred lingered. He didn't understand why when he longed to see his family again and to hold and kiss each one of them. Perhaps it was the want to warm Ivan as he lay in bed cold and lonely. Perhaps it was the want to sway his thoughts toward good deeds and heart-felt actions.
After King Ivan converted to Americanan religion Alfred began praying to his God for Ivan's acceptance, and after witnessing the king's repentance first hand Alfred remained and swore to himself and to his God that he be there to ferry Ivan's passed spirit into the next life.
Because now the lack of Ivan's smile upset Alfred's spirit; because he knew he paid penance; because Alfred wanted Ivan to be at peace, and he was glad in knowing he was not the only one praying for this King of Russ—so did Alfred wait by King Ivan's side. It wouldn't be long now, and Alfred didn't mind if Ivan was allowed into their heaven for the rest of eternity.