"How much longer, do you think?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and lolled his head against the frame of the carriage window.
"I don't know. Stop asking."
Alfred groaned and put his feet up on the seat next to Arthur. They had been sitting side by side when their journey to the Kirkland manor house had started, but the weather had shifted fast and now it was too wet and muggy for any type of closeness.
"I thought you said it wasn't far."
"It's not! Only two or three hours. But the rain-"
"I know."
"Then why ask?"
Shooting Arthur an unamused look, Alfred mimicked him under his breath with a high, whiny voice. Alfred fidgeted again, then started chewing on his thumb nail. Arthur tried to ignore the clicking of his teeth and looked out the window. Even though it was raining, they had left them open to alleviate some of the sticky heat, but Arthur was still wiping sweat from his hairline every few minutes. He felt damp and itchy and miserable and wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothing and sit in the rocky carriage in his undergarments, propriety and self-consciousness be damned. More than seeing his family, Arthur couldn't wait to arrive back home so he could throw himself in a tub of cool water. His mind became increasingly vacant as he watched the heavy green of the countryside roll stiltedly past, but then Alfred's nail biting became too distracting to bear.
"Would you stop that?"
"What?"
"Biting your nails! It's driving me mad!"
Alfred plopped his hands in his lap petulantly and glared at Arthur.
"You do it, too!"
"Well, I'm trying not to! Your biting is only reminding me that I can't." Arthur inspected his hands nervously. "My mother will have me over her knee if I come home with ragged fingernails."
"What do you mean?"
"It's always been a bad habit of mine." Arthur stopped his inspection and rubbed his clammy palms on his trousers. "My mother tried to break me of it when I was younger by making me soak my fingers in vinegar."
"Ewwww. And that didn't stop you?"
"No. Quite the opposite. I developed a fondness for vinegar."
Alfred laughed and shook his head. "You're joking."
"Not at all. I only stopped when my father threatened to take a switch to my backside if he ever caught me." Arthur made a dramatically pained face while Alfred giggled. "And even then I just did it behind their backs."
The smile faded from Alfred's face and he looked at his own hands with a worried sigh. "I'm nervous. About meeting them, I mean. This is different than seeing them when they come to the palace for official events. It's... I have to impress them."
Arthur scoffed. "You don't have to do a thing. You're royalty. They'll love anything you do or say. Besides, they'll probably be too busy picking at me to notice your less charming attributes."
"Like what?" Alfred arched an eyebrow in challenge, and swung his legs off the seat so he could lean towards Arthur.
"Well, you're a glutton." Arthur reached out and poked Alfred's stomach, which earned him a shocked laugh and a swat, but he moved his hand so it was braced along the side of Alfred's ribcage, thumb rubbing up and down a known sensitive spot.
"St-stop! I am not!" Alfred squirmed, but didn't try in earnest to escape, so Arthur pressed on.
"Yes you are. And you're terribly lazy. You'd sleep in past noon if Yao let you. And you're a fool." Arthur was leaning so far forward that he was nearly on his knees in front of Alfred, just barely sitting on his side of the carriage any more. He smiled teasingly, but saw a flicker of hurt cross Alfred's face. "You're a hopelessly romantic and sentimental fool, what with that mouth of yours always running and saying things it shouldn't."
Alfred's expression softened and he sat forward to give Arthur a tiny kiss. "You like my mouth."
Arthur hummed non-committally and returned the kiss.
"You like the rest of me, too."
"I suppose that's true." Arthur went in for another kiss, but Alfred evaded him and pulled him onto the seat so they were pressed by side once again. It was still far too hot and damp to be so close, but Arthur found he didn't mind it as much when Alfred was pushing a sweaty lock of hair behind his ear and caressing his cheek. He was kissed again, the contact irritating in its lightness, so he locked his hands behind Alfred's head and yanked him sloppily forward. Arthur was uncomfortable, twisted sideways and getting slightly rained on, poorly balanced now that Alfred's weight was pushing him off his seat, but it was worth the frenzy to have Alfred's mouth pressed harshly against his.
Arthur was tired of softness. They'd had years of nothing but softness and good manners and pretending. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why he so badly needed to do it, but this- fumbling and clutching and making a mess of things- was something he was better at than Alfred. He could lead the way in this, even if it was blindly and he had to all but drag Alfred along.
Slow to respond, Alfred, was trying to find something to brace himself on, and finally found the side of the carriage above Arthur's head, palm laid flat and arm straining to keep himself from falling. The bump of metal against Arthur's cheek reminded him that he should be careful of Alfred's spectacles, and Arthur bit at Alfred's bottom lip in frustration.
"Ow!" Alfred scrambled back to the far side of the seat and touched his lip, the flesh just slightly swollen, but indecently red. He looked at Arthur with a mixture of confusion and amusement, but stopped Arthur's attempts at advancement with a hand pressed solidly against Arthur's chest. "Arthur, stop! What if the driver hears us?"
Arthur pushed the hand away and almost lunged forward again, but of course Alfred was infuriatingly right in telling him to mind himself more carefully, and he moodily returned to his own side of the carriage. "It's your fault! You started it!"
"I was just teasing!"
"That's all you're good for. Teasing," Arthur spat with a disgusted roll of his eyes, slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms.
Alfred's brow furrowed and his face flushed. "I don't know what you want me to do. It's not like we can- I mean- we can't...I want to... I-"
"Never mind, then."
The mood congealed into the tense, foul thing it had been before, and now Arthur had no one to blame but himself. He could blame Alfred, and that did seem the fairer option given that he was the one who wanted to embark on a romantic enterprise to begin with, but then he looked over and saw Alfred petting his lower lip fretfully. Alfred was sulking again, but more troubled than restless this time, and Arthur felt poorly for ruining everything again.
"I'm sorry, Alfred. It's just... I'm nervous as well and I needed-"
"Are they really that hard on you?" Alfred interrupted and looked at Arthur worriedly.
"Um. Well, not my mother. She's always been a bit indulgent, perhaps, but my father..." Arthur cleared his throat and went to work straightening his clothes, as if he could feel the disapproving glare that would come with his arriving dishevelled. "... he's never been too fond of me, no."
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see. Compared to my brothers, especially Will... well, you'll see. I don't blame him or anything like that. All things considered, I am a bit disappointing." Arthur tried to sound light-hearted in his self-deprecation, but the laughter in his words felt forced even to his own ears.
"Arthur-"
"No." He could hear the forthcoming denials in Alfred's voice; Alfred would say something too sweet and generous and untrue, and Arthur didn't want to hear it when he'd be proven wrong in just a short while. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, Alfred. It's fine. He means well."
Alfred looked at Arthur with a pained expression, but didn't say anything. Eventually, Arthur found it so unnerving that he had to look away and out the carriage window, rain still falling to the thick, hot earth.
Their reception at the manor house was not what Arthur had thought it would be. He'd been expecting to see his family lined up at the entrance, solemnly awaiting the moment when their future King would step out of the carriage, armed with formalities and pleasantries. Instead, Arthur and Alfred were greeted by the head maid and a few other servants, who bowed stiffly until being told to unload the luggage. The head maid, a woman Arthur didn't know, told them that they were to get settled and refreshed before supper, that the Lady of the house thought they might prefer some time to rest before meeting. It took Arthur a moment to realize the Lady she referred to was his mother and the entire situation made him feel uneasy. Alfred didn't seem to find it odd at all, nudging Arthur as they were brought into the foyer.
"Is it like you remembered?"
"No, it's..."
Smaller. It seemed silly to think it, but after years of living in the Spades Palace, Arthur's childhood home felt foreign and cramped. With the servants bustling to retrieve their belongings behind them, Arthur realized just how few people it actually took to run their household. There had only ever been five or six people employed by the Kirklands, and Arthur began to wonder what the dozens of servants back at the palace even did all day, what with only three people to look after. Other than cleaning their rooms and maintaining the gardens, it wasn't as if there was that much work to be done on a daily basis. His new life seemed almost wasteful in its comfort.
Alfred didn't press him to finish his thought and was whisked away by a pair of maids. Arthur was led back to his old room, warned in advance that it had been taken over by Oliver and Andrew since the nursery had been converted into a room for Peter. When the maid opened the door, Arthur half expected the two boys, who were just twelve and ten, to be playing raucously inside. Instead, Arthur was greeted with silence and two perfectly made beds, not a single book or toy on the floor, nor a trace of his younger brothers to be found.
"I thought you said Andrew and Oliver took this room? Where are they?"
"Oh! Didn't you know? Your parents sent them to a boarding school in the north a few months ago."
"No, I didn't know."
Something in that made Arthur's stomach turn and he couldn't quite figure out what was so upsetting. The maid was placing clothing from Arthur's travelling trunk into the drawers, laying out a new outfit as she found matching pieces, chattering on about how smart his brothers were for being so young and how the Lord and the Lady were optimistic they would have brilliant careers when they were older. That's when it dawned on Arthur what bothered him so greatly about his brothers being sent off.
They were as old as he was before his betrothal had happened, and yet no talk of schooling for Arthur outside what tutoring his mother could accomplish was ever discussed. William had gone to school of course, and had graduated from the legal academy in the spring, but that was to be expected since he would rightfully inherit anything their father had, business included. But Arthur's prospects had never been so much as mentioned. Whether they had meant to send him off, but the betrothal had presented a better opportunity, or they had simply never thought enough of him to enroll him in a real school, it hurt Arthur's pride a bit to think that his parents were already more invested in his younger brother's futures. They certainly didn't have to worry about Arthur's future now, but the thought that they hadn't worried about it all made Arthur's stomach ache.
"Would you like me to draw a bath for you now, your Highness?"
Arthur jumped at that, unused to being called by what he supposed was now his rightful title, but didn't offer any correction.
"Yes, please. Cool, if you be so kind."
That was another inconvenience Arthur had never considered. As he sat in the tepid water, he stared at the fireplace in the corner of the washroom, copper pot still hanging inside though there was no fire. When he was a child, they'd had to wait for water to heat there and then pour it into the tub; at the palace, it took less than half the time because of the pipes and faucets, and the water drained out over a grate that led to even more pipes instead of having to be scooped out again. Shaking his head, Arthur stopped trying to understand his old life and grasp onto any familiarity there. It had been too long, and it wouldn't do to make himself sick over things that didn't matter anymore.
Arthur scrubbed himself down with a salty paste flecked with mint leaves, and he smiled because at least this hadn't changed. He'd hated the stuff as a child because it had smelled like medicine to him, but now it felt blissful and soothing to his itchy, hot skin.
He dressed and considered lying down for a bit before trying to find his mother, but something about the smaller bed unnerved him. Looking around the room, Arthur could see not a single thing of his own. Even the bookshelf held different books now. It was if he had never lived here at all, not a single piece of evidence to suggest that he even existed. He felt erased, even though he knew his family had not done it on purpose, that they were just making room where they could. With a grimace, he wondered where his things had been stored, or if they had been sold. He had no need of them, obviously, not after seven years and the palace providing everything he could ever need. Still, he didn't want to spend a moment longer than he had to in the room, and went in search of Alfred and his family.
After searching the formal receiving parlour and the dining room, Arthur found them in the small conservatory off of his father's study. They were seated comfortably, apparently laughing at something that Alfred had said, but stopped and turned when Arthur entered. Immediately his mother was on her feet and reached out to embrace him.
"Arthur, darling! We'd just sent for you!" She kissed him on both his cheeks and his forehead, then hugged him again. "It's so good to see you. We've missed you so much!"
Arthur could nearly hear his father's teeth grinding at his wife's doting behaviour, but his face was passive enough to seem pleasant as he shook Arthur's hand and welcomed him stiffly. He was taken aback to see the large silver patches taking over at his father's temples, and the new creases around his mouth and eyes; he seemed so much older all of sudden, and Arthur wasn't sure how to feel. Fumbling over his greetings, Arthur felt nothing but another surge of nausea. This entire trip was starting to seem like a terrible idea; the pain of having to interact with his family -people he hardly knew now- was dangerously close to not be worth it to see if he still had his Gift.
Then Alfred was at his side, saying something that must have been charming because his parents laughed again, and he was being pulled toward a sofa and sitting far too close to Alfred and suddenly he was worried that they would know. They would know that he and Alfred were courting personally and not just pretending to get along for the sake of the kingdom, and everything would be ruined. His face must have lost some of it's colour because his mother was calling his name urgently and staring at him with wide-eyes.
"What? Yes, I'm fine, I apologize, I'm just a little tired from the journey."
"It's not such a long distance! Are you sure you're not ill, dear?"
The look on Arthur's father's face communicated clearly that he should not be ill or tired or anything other than healthy and cordial, so Arthur shook his head even as Alfred was interrupting.
"Oh, no! He must be tired from all the extra preparations he's doing with Yao for the Deck Council! They've been working on proposals for weeks now." He beamed at Arthur and his father, obviously trying to dispel some of the tension.
Arthur's father smiled permissively at Alfred. "And tell me, your Highness, is my son taking care of affairs to your liking?"
It was a loaded question. If Alfred said no, then Arthur looked like an idiot, but if Alfred went on complimenting Arthur, his father would take him for a fool.
"Arthur's wonderful! He's gotten along so well with the other Queens, and he's clever with words. I have no doubt that he will help write a winning proposal for this fall!"
Inclining his head slightly, Arthur's father murmured his thanks, but shot Arthur a look that warned him they would have words later. Before the full awkwardness of the atmosphere could occur to Alfred, Arthur's mother was piping up with her own question.
"And speaking of proposals, I was not aware that the Jack of Spades had made your Highness' betrothal to our son public!"
Alfred smiled and patted Arthur fondly on the knee. Arthur could feel the blood rush to his ears and drown out the sound as both his parents' gaze trained in on that hand and flickers of bewilderment on their faces betrayed their shock. He shifted slightly on the sofa so that Alfred's hand fell away, and anyone could imagine that the touch had been casual, perhaps even accidental.
"Well, it has not been formally announced, no. We all decided that it would be best to wait until my coronation to do so." Arthur could hear Alfred struggling to choose his words carefully and he wished they had thought to practice their responses to any questions regarding marriage. "But Yao thought it was time I know about the arrangement. There was no point in keeping it a secret, not when I was old enough to understand my duty."
Turning to Arthur with a gentle reprimand in her high sing-song voice, his mother said through a thick smile, "Arthur, why did you not tell us that the Jack had informed his Highness about all this? A year ago. When it happened."
"Er. Like, Alf- his Highness said. It was not going to be officially announced until next year, so I didn't think it... prudent to discuss it without permission." He coughed gingerly and looked away, hoping that the excuse was good enough for the subject to be dropped.
"It was a relief though, I have to admit. Arthur's become a great friend of mine, and knowing that he will be my partner in ruling is a comfort," Alfred said quietly, but his sincerity was thunderous. Arthur bit back a smile and tried to surreptitiously gauge his parents' reactions. His mother was smiling tearfully and patting his father on the arm, and his father didn't look entirely displeased.
"It's an honour that you think so much of our son, your Highness."
"Lord Kirkland, it's an honour to know your son. I mean that, truthfully."
Leaning back in his chair, Arthur's father turned his gaze back to his son. Arthur squirmed beneath the intensity of it, and he could hear the unspoken response clearly.
We'll see.
William made an appearance for dinner, apologizing profusely for being late. The rain had hindered his travel from the village closest to the manor house, where he was wrapped up in some legal business involving farmland. He explained the case with great passion, and Alfred seemed quite interested in the issue, but Arthur tuned out and poked at the food on his plate.
His brother was a friendly sort, outgoing and handsome enough to nearly always get his way. Being six years older than Arthur, he'd never paid much attention to the younger siblings, but had bullied Arthur every now and then. Pranks, like hiding Arthur's violin bow, or filling his stockings with dirt or locking him in the dark cellar- nothing too terribly mean, but still vivid enough in Arthur's memory that he had never been close with William. Perhaps it was his bravado and charm that made William their father's favourite, or that he was the first son, or perhaps it was a boost to Lord Kirkland's vanity to have a child that looked so much like himself.
Arthur, of course had inherited his mother's delicate looks, but none of her beauty, and Andrew and Oliver looked like neither of their parents, the former with curly brown hair and wide-set blue eyes, and the latter with too pinched of an expression, shockingly red hair, and brown eyes. It was only William that took after their father: well over six feet tall, broad shouldered and athletic, the same odd, dark auburn hair and pale blue eyes. Arthur wished he were half as good looking, and half as clever at conversation and he felt himself sinking further and further into his sulking every time Alfred laughed at something William said or asked to hear more about his work.
Alfred got along so well with his family that Arthur was beginning to feel like the guest. Even Peter, eight years old and precocious as could be for an eight year old, had taken to Alfred right away and asked if he would like to play pirates with him. Laughter and gentle scolding had followed, but Alfred had of course promised to play whatever Peter wanted during their stay.
The promised must have mollified the boy, because now he was on his best behaviour at the dining table, not talking or making a mess, just sitting primly and trying to act absurdly dignified. Arthur had been relegated to the chair across from him, farthest away from Alfred and his father and the message in that was clear: he was about as important as a child.
"You don't remember me, do you?" Arthur asked Peter quietly, craving some attention even if he felt inadequate to jump into the conversation at the other end of the table.
Peter looked up from his plate donned a lofty expression. "No. Mother says I was just a baby the last time I was at the palace."
"Yes you were. I held you and you gripped my finger so tight I thought you might pull it off!" Arthur tried to smile warmly and sound brotherly, but Peter didn't seem impressed and went back to his food. Desperate for some sort of validation, Arthur forced a tiny laugh.
"They say we look alike, you and I. What do you think?"
Peter sighed and examined Arthur's face critically. "I hope not."
"What do you mean?"
"I hope we don't look alike. You're ugly."
Arthur couldn't help the hurt flaring up after such a candid sting. He knew he should just let the insult go, that Peter was only a child and Arthur was as good as a stranger to him, and that children were sometimes cruelly honest. But that wasn't enough to stop him from narrowing his eyes and leaning forward across the table.
"When I first met you, and held you, I thought you were the sweetest thing, you know. I though, my goodness how small and fascinating this is, that this is my little brother. Turns out you're just a nasty little animal."
Peter pouted and glared at Arthur. "You can't talk to me like that! I'll be a knight or even a King someday, and I'll have you put in jail for being mean to me!"
"You can't be a knight, there's no such thing anymore," Arthur hissed. "And Alfred's going to be King. You'll be nothing but a little brat forever!"
"Well at least mother and father love me enough to keep me! They didn't send me off like you!"
"They sent Andrew and Oliver off!"
"But they get to come back! You don't! You have to stay away because they don't want you anymore!"
Arthur could feel angry tears beginning to form, and he swallowed painfully. Peter didn't know anything, he was just saying things to get a reaction, but it still felt like the truth to Arthur. He stared emptily down at his lap, laughter from the other end of the table indicating that his exchange with Peter had gone unnoticed.
It seemed that Arthur wasn't the only one pretending to eat, and he watched as his father pushed his fork around, but never brought it to his lips. The longer he watched, the more he realized that the only thing he had seen his father partake of was a cup of dark tea that a maid had brought him, something different than the tangerine and lavender flavoured water that had been served to everyone else, chilled and sweet. Arthur didn't understand why, knowing that as regimented as his father was, he had always had an appetite, and an off feeling compounded his foul mood.
He didn't speak for the rest of the evening unless he was asked a direct question, and suffered through a kiss on the cheek from his mother when goodnights were said. Alfred noticed his change in mood and declined the servants' offers to escort him back to the guest suite, saying he had something to discuss with Arthur in private. He followed Arthur to his bedroom door, and looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was around.
"Arthur, what's wrong? You seem-"
"I'm tired, that's all."
Alfred pressed his lips together and looked over his shoulder again before drawing Arthur into a hug. This wasn't his normal, friendly greeting, the arms wrapped low around Arthur's waist and the pull into his chest indicating that this was just for them and no one else. Arthur turned his face in towards Alfred's neck and let himself be comforted for a moment before stepping away. Still looking worried, Alfred shuffled his feet and opened his mouth a few times, as if struggling to find the right words. Finally he looked back up at Arthur with a pained smile.
"I love you, you know."
That should have made Arthur's heart race and his cheeks get pink, it should have made him feel giddy and warm, but it only made him more miserable and hollow.
"I'm fine, Alfred, really. I just need some rest."
"All right. I'll leave you to it, then." Alfred didn't sound convinced, and even worse, it was obvious that he was disappointed that Arthur had chosen, yet again, not to return his declaration. He was about to turn away, but looked up and down the hall one last time instead before kissing Arthur. This time it was his hands in Arthur's hair instead of the other way around and Arthur was confused by the sudden desperation in his kiss, the way Alfred was pressed so tightly against him that he wasn't sure whose lips were moving anymore. Arthur grappled for the doorknob, intent on wrenching his room open and pulling Alfred inside.
But he couldn't. Not when, even in a sudden burst of passion, Alfred's kiss was so pure and good. He wasn't kissing Arthur this way because he wanted the heavy-handed, chaotic love-making that Arthur did- he was doing it because he didn't know how else to comfort Arthur. Even in his indecency, Alfred was too kind, and it made Arthur sick. He pulled away panting, and turned the doorknob.
"Goodnight, Alfred."
The rain didn't stop for two days, and even then the sky remained dark and oppressive. Thunder storms the third night made it impossible for Alfred to sleep. He'd never been afraid of thunder, but there was something ominous about the low rumbles that made his skin crawl and shiver despite the cloying heat. Alfred was tempted to sneak down to Arthur's room and sleep there, but it wouldn't do to have some maid walk in and see them together. As far as Arthur's parent knew, as far as anyone knew (with the exceptions of Francis and Gilbert), he and Arthur were friends only. He knew that Arthur wished their relationship to remain private, but seeing him so sad and withdrawn since their arrival made Alfred want to be by his side as much as possible.
Alfred liked Arthur's family, especially his mother and William; he couldn't quite read his father yet, but he had been nothing but hospitable to Alfred so far. The only drawback to staying with Arthur's family was that Alfred couldn't be himself around Arthur. He couldn't tease him or touch him, they had almost no time together, and he missed seeing Arthur smile and hearing him laugh.
This entire trip was supposed to be about rediscovering Arthur's Gift, but it was quickly becoming a test in patience and polite parlour conversation. Alfred didn't know how many more times he could remark on the weather or compliment the host and hostess before he would scream, so when the skies cleared even slightly, the first thing he did was ask Arthur for a tour of the grounds.
Most of the lawns were still a soggy mess, so Arthur took him down a stone pathway flanked by columns and covered by a canopy of wisteria. The lavender blossoms were new and thick, looking only a little worse for wear thanks to the rain, but it was a charming walk down to connecting gazebo.
They sat quietly on one of the stone benches inside the gazebo for a while, listening to birds chirp warily and warm winds rustle the drooping vines. Arthur didn't seem forthcoming with any conversation, so Alfred cleared his throat.
"Do you feel anything?"
"Pardon?"
"Your Gift. Do you feel anything, now that we're out here?" He gestured vaguely to their surroundings and watched as Arthur took stock of himself with a strange sigh.
"No. Well, yes. It's like buzzing. My head hurts and I hear this tiny buzzing noise." Arthur winced and sighed through his nose a second time. "Cloudy. I feel cloudy."
"Will it get better?"
"I don't know!" Arthur snapped at him and glared, but his anger broke down when his eyes met Alfred's, and Alfred didn't know what he could do other than watch as Arthur stifled a sob and put his head in his hands. "I don't know."
"Arthur, it's going to be fine! We still have a week. That's plenty of time to figure all this out!" He put an arm around Arthur's slumped shoulders and pulled him into his chest, feeling awkward but knowing that all he could do was try his best to offer comfort.
"But it's not just that!" Arthur's voice kept breaking, but he wasn't crying. Alfred didn't know if he could handle seeing Arthur cry again; he wouldn't have any idea what to do. "It's this place and my father and my mother and Council and everything and I don't know what I'm going to do!"
Alfred was awful with words, but decent with gestures, so he did the best he could to soothe Arthur physically, letting him rest his head on his shoulder, holding him close to his side, clutching his hand supportively. The past few days had taught Alfred that he was no good at making Arthur feel better, that he had no idea what he needed or what he was thinking. He knew he should ask, that he should make Arthur talk that he should talk back, but it was hard when Arthur decided to retreat to that place inside of himself where Alfred had never been allowed. He couldn't reach him there, not now, not when they were children and Alfred hadn't understood that Arthur's friendship was being withheld not out of spite, but because Arthur had been in shock over the forces that altered his life forever. How different would Arthur be if he had never been chosen as the next Queen? Would he be anything like himself, the Arthur that Alfred was stupidly in love with, or would he be the quiet, grey thing he was now? Alfred kissed Arthur's forehead worriedly and tried to think the situation through logically.
"All right. One thing at a time. Your Gift. Is there any chance that there's even anything to see right now?"
Arthur sniffled, but was still refusing to breakdown. "Probably not. With the weather being like it was, they're not likely to be out. They'll be somewhere safe. Their homes, nests, something."
"Then we can't worry about that right now. If your headache is so bad, we should ask your mother for something to treat it." Alfred took a deep breath and mentally checked that off the list of things to be dealt with. "Council is months away, and we're already working on it. There's nothing to do with that until we get back, so we shouldn't worry about that either, right?"
"Right."
The last problem was something Alfred still didn't understand, but he pressed forward anyway. "Now your father... I can tell he's hard on you, but-
"I think he's sick."
"What?" Alfred was taken aback by the sudden admission.
"I don't know, it's just things I've noticed."
"Like?"
"He doesn't eat much at meals. And he drinks nothing but tea- special tea the maid brings him, not what we drink. Haven't you noticed?"
"No." Alfred honestly hadn't, and he still didn't see how any of this indicated Lord Kirkland was ill.
"I think it's medicinal. Why else would he drink something different? And his hair. His hair has gotten so grey all of a sudden."
"Arthur, it's been a couple of years since you last saw him. Of course his hair would be grey. I don't think that means he's sick!"
"But the tea-"
"It could just be a supplement. Like the gross powder the physician made us put in our milk so we wouldn't get sick during winter when we were younger. It doesn't mean anything."
Arthur looked up, a tiny relieved smile crossing his lips, and Alfred basked in it, glad he had said the right thing for once. " You really think so?"
"Of course! And if something was wrong, you don't think your mother would have told you? Or William? Arthur, he's fine."
Arthur nodded slowly but didn't say anything.
" I don't know what it was like for you growing up Arthur, but from what I've seen, your parents love you. Maybe your father's a little rough, but they both love you."
Another smile flitted across Arthur's lips and he reached out to trace the arch of Alfred's cheekbone. "Not like you do."
Alfred jerked back in surprise, but felt a happy lightness take over at the thought that Arthur was referring openly to Alfred's affection, and was maybe about to admit his own.
"Of course not. No one's going to love you like I do."
"I'd be damn well spoiled if anyone else did." Arthur laughed.
Feeling that that was as close to a confession as Alfred was likely to get for the moment, he kissed Arthur chastely, still aware that they should refrain from such displays of affection, but unable to let the moment slip away. Arthur felt the same, if the intensity with which he returned the kiss was anything to go by. It wasn't like in the carriage: frustrated and aggressive; nor was it like their first night in the manor house, when Arthur hadn't been totally present for the kiss, faraway and unmoving, mind whirring so fast that Alfred could have sworn he could hear him thinking. Now there was no rush, no panic, no hoarding of sensations, just the pressure itself, warm and sweet.
Alfred let his eyes close as he felt Arthur's gentle exhale on the corner of his mouth, waiting only a fraction of a second before he blindly sought out another kiss. It was easy, with Arthur's hands in his hair and guiding him this way and that so that there was no ugly collisions of noses or teeth or Alfred's spectacles. He was getting lost in the need to continue, curling up in the comfort of touching and being touched and it was almost without his permission that his hands moved up Arthur's sides, stroking beneath the waistcoat that had long ago been unbuttoned because of the heat. Alfred could feel the breath get caught in Arthur's throat for a moment before he let out a conservative groan, and Alfred opened his eyes again to watch. Arthur licked his lips and swallowed, either trying to calm himself down or wondering if he was allowed to escalate their situation.
"Maybe we should stop. Your parents-"
"I don't care. Not right now, I-" Arthur shook his head and let his hands fall to Alfred's shoulders. "I don't care."
Arthur's words stirred a heat up in Alfred's chest, and instead of worrying about the neat division between temptation and reality, he let it carry him forward. This time, Arthur's lips were still parted, wet and slow, and Alfred caught the bottom one between his teeth, trying to replicate the intent of what Arthur had tried in the carriage without actually inflicting pain. Gasping into his mouth, Arthur's fingers tangled and pulled at Alfred's hair, and he shivered, his own fingers digging into Arthur's sides. Before he had time to even think about nipping at Arthur again, he felt hot, foreign thickness of Arthur's tongue working against his own and Alfred's face grew so flushed that was sure that Arthur's would come away burned. It was so indecent and embarrassing, but Alfred didn't fight the languid strokes, nor did he help them. He didn't know what to do, other than enjoy the deep kiss, too afraid that his inexperience would ruin everything if he tried to reciprocate.
If Arthur was unhappy with Alfred's passivity, it hardly showed. He stopped kissing Alfred only long enough to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and reach out to take Alfred's spectacles off. Alfred grinned stupidly as he did, and awaited what he was sure would be more daring embraces, but the only thing Arthur did was furrow his brow, look at the spectacles in his hand and then back at Alfred. He seemed confused and cupped Alfred's cheek warily, appraising his face before tracing lightly over his forehead, the curve of his brow and down to his chin. Whatever inner conflict Arthur was dealing with was ended as soon as Alfred tried to open his mouth to question it. He placed the spectacles in Alfred's lap, stood, and began buttoning his waistcoat.
"We should get back inside. You're right. My parents will send someone for us soon anyway. Best not to be caught."
Alfred fumbled with his spectacles for a moment and stood as well, awkwardly tugging at his clothing and smoothing his hair flat again. "Oh, uh, all right.
He had no idea what he'd done or what Arthur had seen in his face that had made him stop, but Alfred found he couldn't be too disheartened when Arthur turned and held out his hand. Alfred took it, and Arthur smiled a strange, knowing smile, not letting go of his hand until they got within sight of the manor house windows.
"I'm sorry I can't stay for the remainder of your visit, your Highness, but duty calls," William said with a quick bow.
Alfred grinned and got up from his seat next to Arthur on the sofa, laying his hand of cards on the low parlour table.
"I told you to call me Alfred!" He shook William's hand cheerfully. Alfred liked Arthur's older brother; he was outgoing and had a good sense of humour, and Alfred wished he had had more time to get to know him and perhaps learn more about what Arthur had been like before he had come to the palace. "It was a pleasure to meet you! You'll come to the palace soon, won't you?"
William smiled brilliantly, but still lowered his eyes when he talked to Alfred. "For your coronation, of course. Not sure if I'll be able to visit before then."
"Well, you're welcome at any time. I swear it. Besides, I'm sure Arthur would like to see more of you, and have some news from home." Alfred grinned over his shoulder at Arthur who rolled his eyes and scowled over his cards.
"Nah, Arthur's too delicate to appreciate my finer charms," William teased, ruffling his brother's hair. Alfred could tell that Arthur was itching to swat at him, but was on his best behaviour with his mother watching. "Father wants you in his study, by the way."
"Now?" Alfred could see Arthur begin to panic, probably going through a mental list of anything he could have done to earn his father's ire. "What for?"
"He didn't tell me, genius. Just wants you soon, he said." William walked over to where his mother sat, and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, mother. I'll see you in a few days."
"Be safe", she murmured and kissed him back, rubbing the tiny mark left behind by her lip rouge with gentle fingers.
William snorted and crossed to the door. "Not if I can help it!" He departed with another bow of the head to Alfred and an exaggerated bend at the waist towards Arthur, who sneered, unamused.
"You'd best go if your father wants you, Arthur dear." Arthur's mother smiled sweetly, but her voice was warning, and Arthur stood right away.
"Yes, of course. Excuse me."
The silence after Arthur's departure was deafening, and Alfred realized this was the first time he had been alone with either one of Arthur's parents during their visit. He smiled nervously at Lady Kirkland and gathered up his and Arthur's cards, reshuffling the deck.
"Shall I lay out another game, Lady Kirkland?"
She reached across the table and stopped his hands with a light pat and indicated he should put the cards down. "No, let's chat, you and I."
"Oh. All right." Alfred waited for her to continue but she only pursed her lips and shifted in her chair. "About what?"
After a moment's hesitation, she looked at Alfred sheepishly, as if she knew shouldn't say what she was about to and said, "Arthur."
"Oh."
"Yes."
Another interminable silence descended until Alfred forced himself to interrupt it.
"Was there something you wanted to know, or-"
"Yes! Well, er, that is... how are you both... getting along?"
Knowing he had to be careful of what he said next, Alfred smiled as charmingly as he could and forced himself to appear relaxed. "Wonderfully! We're such good friends, and we work well together. Yao has prepared us well for when we are both crowned."
"Is that all?"
"What?"
Lady Kirkland tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and bit her lip, and Alfred saw what she might have been like as a younger woman- flighty, withdrawn and unsure, an exact duplicate of Arthur. She shook her head as if to rearrange her thoughts, then tried to look at Alfred once more.
"I just thought it might be more than that."
The smile slipped from Alfred's face and he understood what she was asking. She as well as knew the answer anyway, but she was still asking, and Alfred couldn't find it in himself to lie.
"Lady Kirkland, I love your son very much. That is, I'm in love with him."
She exhaled dazedly and whispered, "Oh, I thought you might be."
"I know this must be upsetting to you and-"
"No! No! It's- I hoped it would be like this!"
"What?"
Lady Kirkland wrung her hands together and then pressed her fingertips to her flushed cheeks, and Alfred again saw a flash of Arthur in the movements. She was smiling, almost painfully, it seemed and laughed to herself.
"You must think I'm mad! Well, let me explain. I've often thought that I haven't been a good mother for Arthur, that I didn't know what to do with him." Alfred opened his mouth to disagree, but she held up her finger to stop him. "No, your Highness, I apologize, but let me finish. I always wanted girls, you see, but I've been blessed with nothing but boys, and I don't think I've ever understood how to raise one. But Arthur, he was so tiny and fragile, and I thought, yes, this I can handle. He would be my boy." She was speaking so fast that she had to press a hand to her chest and breathe for a moment before continuing. "I taught him everything I could, I begged his father to let me keep at home and tutor him myself, taught him the violin and read him stories and-"
"And about the Gift?"
"You know about that?" She was breathless again, and genuinely shocked.
"Yes. Arthur told me. He told me you had it when you were younger, too."
"And that was just another thing I failed him in. I couldn't see what he saw."
Alfred wanted to reach across the table to comfort her, but didn't know how. "No, I don't think you've failed him at all! He's only ever said good things about you! And I don't see what any of this has to do with me."
Lady Kirkland cleared her throat and spread her hands on her lap. "Arthur's always been the quiet sort, yes? He wasn't always. Not at first. When he was born, he cried and cried for so long the midwife thought he would die from not breathing properly. Nothing I did could stop it. He wouldn't sleep, he barely ate; he just screamed like he needed something in the worst way. Eventually, I couldn't stop crying either- I was so tired and frightened- and he just looked up at me, looked at me crying, and I think somehow he knew that whatever it was he needed, he wasn't going to get it from me."
"I don't understand." Alfred swallowed thickly, distraught and uncomfortable from the horrific image Lady Kirkland had painted.
"He's stopped crying. He's so quiet now that I almost miss when he was a baby. But I don't think he's ever stopped screaming for whatever it was he needed. His Gift gave it to him for a little while, I think, but then we sent him off and took that from him, too." She brushed the back of her hand along her eyes and Alfred realized she was close to tears. "Your Highness, forgive me for being presumptuous, but I've seen the way you look at him and I think you're the only one who can give him what he needs."
Alfred's heart started racing, but he didn't know if it was from elation or terror. He thought back to every time he'd ever made Arthur upset or hurt him without knowing and shook his head. "What if I don't know what that is either?"
"You have to try. Please." Lady Kirkland rose and sat next to Alfred on the sofa, clutching his hands in hers. "I know it's not fair and that you're both so young, but you've already done more for him than I ever could. Just try."
All Alfred wanted to do was escape and think before he gave his answer, but seeing Arthur's mother so upset, imagining Arthur so hurt and helpless, kept him from pulling away. He'd already planned on loving Arthur for a lifetime, which was nothing less than what Lady Kirkland was asking of him, but for the first time he considered what it would truly mean to take Arthur as his partner in every way. What if he wasn't good enough, what if just loving wasn't enough to make things work?
Alfred barely got the words "I will" out before Arthur's mother had pulled him close and was thanking him profusely.
Arthur took as much time walking to his father's study as he could, wracking his brain for what he could have done that would warrant being summoned so abruptly. He paused at the end of the hallway, not wanting to close the final gap between himself and the door, when Peter came bursting out, face tear-stained and red.
"Peter?"
Peter hiccuped and rubbed his face. "Go away, Arthur!" he tried to push past, but Arthur grabbed a hold of him and knelt down to his level.
"Peter, what happened? Did you talk to father? What did he say?"
A brief flash of stony resolve crossed Peter's face and Arthur thought he would try to run away again, but then Peter sobbed violently and curled himself against Arthur's chest. For a few moments Arthur couldn't do anything but stroke his hair and shush him, and he was reminded of the times when he'd had to do the same to Alfred. That made his stomach twist, and he held Peter's face in his hands and tried to wipe away the worst of the tears.
"Tell me what happened, Peter."
Sniffling and stuttering, Peter nodded. "He's mad at me because I'm bad at studies and he says, if I don't try harder, that I won't have a future and I won't-"
Whatever else it was Peter wouldn't have, Arthur never found out, because his brother started crying again, and Arthur had to pull him close to muffle the sound or else be heard by someone else. When Peter had sufficiently calmed himself again, Arthur, put his hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye.
"Now, Peter, you have to listen to me. Sometimes our father seems mean and angry and like he doesn't love us very much, but I promise you it isn't true. He only wants the best for us, and that's why he scolds and makes us work hard. You're a smart boy, Peter, I know you are, so if you try, I'm sure your studies will get better and father will be happy. All right?"
"And then I can be whatever I want?"
"Anything."
"A knight, even?"
Arthur smiled and smoothed down Peter's hair. "Of course. The most brave and clever knight that ever was."
Peter smiled tearfully, but his confidence seemed to return, if only a little bruised. Arthur straightened up and nudged Peter down the hallway.
"Go scrub your face before mother sees you, now. It won't do for you to upset her over something as silly as this."
Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, Peter puffed his chest out and gave a very grown-up nod of his head before turning to walk proudly to his room. Arthur smiled as he watched him go, then turned to face their father himself.
He was called in after a quick knock, and Arthur was greeted with the sight of his father sitting behind his desk, scribbling something into a small leather book. There was an empty chair near Arthur, but he didn't dare sit without being given permission to do so, and he waited silently. It was with a small pang of worry that Arthur noticed the steaming cup of strange, dark tea on his father's desk, as well as some glass vials in the windowed shelf above his head, colours bright and rich. He tried to recall Alfred's reassurances, but he was too nervous and too upset for Peter and too confused over the reality of his father's ageing for it to do any good.
When his father finally looked up, Arthur flinched, but didn't saw anything.
"Arthur, I'm going to get right to the point." His father leaned back in his chair and looked him up and down, not offering the empty seat. "Why haven't you been crowned yet?"
Dumbfounded and caught off guard, Arthur could only manage a querulous noise.
"You're past the age of majority, are you not?"
Forced to find his voice, Arthur choked out, "Yes, sir."
"And you are still contracted to be Queen, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then why have you not been crowned yet?"
Struggling to find an answer that would please his father, Arthur had nothing left to tell but the truth. "We didn't think it was the right time. We didn't think I was ready."
"We?"
"I." Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I didn't think I was ready. I asked the Jack of Spades to wait until... until after his Highness and I were married, when I would become Queen by default."
"I see." Arthur's father said nothing else, but Arthur could hear the judgements and accusations. He felt himself getting upset and defensive, fists balling up and his sides.
"It's perfectly legal. I can wait if I wa-"
"Oh! You're going to lecture me on legality?" He rose and moved around the desk to sit on the edge closest to Arthur. Arthur fought the urge to back away a few steps, and kept his gaze steady and straight ahead. "You do know who am I, don't you? What I did, why you've been so lucky?"
Arthur swallowed and nodded. "Yes. They told me. About the war and the treaty. How you became nobility." He knew he shouldn't say anything else, but he couldn't help the question burning it's way out of his mouth. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
After a brief silence, Arthur's father snorted and crossed his arms. "Because, what did it have to do with you? Those were my accomplishments, not yours. They afforded you a certain lifestyle, certain opportunities, surely, but they are not something for you- or your brothers- to ride on. Let the history books tell you, but I needn't brag about it." He regarded Arthur critically again, then gestured to him wholly. "And what is it that you've accomplished, Arthur? What are you doing with your new status?"
What did he do, other than live a lavish life and write silly letters and sign whatever documents Yao told him to? Arthur knew he was being trapped, but he also knew it would be worse not to answer.
"I am in correspondence with the other Queens. And the Jack allows me to have input on the proposals we will take to Council."
"So, you write letters and do what the Jack tells you all day long?"
That stung Arthur's pride, especially because it was true, and he found himself with a sudden need to sniffle and hang his head. He expected to be ridiculed for showing weakness, but his father only sighed and went back to sit behind his desk.
"Arthur, sit down."
He did as he was told, warily, and watched as his father took a long sip of the dark tea and then ran a hand over his face.
"I have no doubt that you are a clever boy, Arthur; I never have. But you've never been much of a leader, and if you don't think you are prepared enough to be Queen now, what, realistically, is going to change in a year to make you prepared? You're a man now, Arthur. Your training is over. It's time to apply what you know, incite some changes, be a leader."
Arthur was overwhelmed and angry with himself. "I don't know how, sir."
"I can't tell you how to rule a Kingdom. That isn't my role in your life. But what I can tell you is that you have to make a mark, you have to do something that people will remember. Whatever that is, only you can discover it. It has to be important to you, important to your people. That's all I want for you to do, Arthur- I want you to do something with your power other than sit idly in comfort and wait out your reign. You've been given a enormous chance to be a better man that I will ever be, and it's killing me that you won't take it."
Killing him. Arthur could almost believe it, and even more shame washed over him. He was right of course- Arthur hadn't done anything worthwhile because he was too afraid to try. But perhaps most terrifying of all was that Alfred had been right; Arthur's father did love him, even if his way of showing it was difficult to swallow.
"Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Arthur let his self-loathing build up to a white hot flame, and then he doused it. He let it die, let it cool, and sat straighter, knowing that this was his only chance of ever being the type of son his father deserved.
"Yes, sir. I understand perfectly."
"It's now or never, Arthur."
That's what Alfred had kept saying over and over while tugging him out on the lawns, past the gazebo and to the pond where Arthur had told him the faeries sunbathed. And he was right- they would leave in two days, and if Arthur was ever going to know if he still had his Gift, this was the perfect time to find out.
The sky was clear and crisp, the ground had dried, and the heat abated just enough that it could be called beautiful weather, so they sat on the stone bench by the pond and waited. Arthur's headache had fizzled out the day before, and he no longer heard the buzzing, nor felt the cloudiness he had upon arrival. Whether that meant anything good, Arthur didn't know, but he jumped with every twitch of the grass or the sound of wind pushing through the branches of the willow tree.
"Anything?"
"No."
"Do you even feel-"
"No."
Alfred chewed his lip and put his arm around Arthur's shoulder. Arthur felt bad for being snippy, but he was frustrated and nervous. He let himself relax a tiny bit into Alfred's embrace, wary that anyone could see them from one of the upper windows of the manor house.
"You can't call them, or something?"
"How? If they wanted to come out, they would."
"Well, was there something you did before to make them come out?"
Arthur thought for a moment, then shrugged. "They liked when I played the violin, but that's little use to us now."
"Whistle it!"
"What?"
Alfred turned excitedly and pointed at Arthur's mouth. "Whistle something you played a lot, something they might recognize!"
"I don't even know if the same beings live here any more, let alone remember my silly songs!"
"It's worth a try!"
Arthur sighed and tried to think of the song he'd played the most. He finally settled on the tune he'd played the day he'd been called away to the palace, the one he'd improvised on and that the faeries had sung to in their high, unintelligible voices. Knowing this was his last chance, Arthur stood and pursed his lips, the first few notes of the song shaky.
"Keep going!"
He walked beneath the branches of the willow tree as he whistled, peering up into the green canopy for any sign of -there! A tiny golden light darted downwards, and for a moment, Arthur didn't see anything but a blurry wisp. He squinted and put every ounce of concentration into remembering what it felt like to have his Gift until finally the form of a tiny, dark haired faerie came into focus. At first he was so shocked, he stopped whistling and nearly collapsed, but then Alfred was there, holding him up and asking him what was wrong. The faerie, upset by Alfred's brash arrival, clung onto a vine of the willow and watched them suspiciously, and it was all Arthur could do to point.
"There. I see her. I see her! Alfred, I- I can see her and she's real and I still have the Gift! I haven't lost it, I-" Arthur was so overcome with joy that he didn't even think as he flung his arms around Alfred and kissed him. Alfred responded, but lifting him clear off his feet and spinning him around once, laughing like he could see the faerie, too.
"Arthur, that's wonderful! I knew you still had it! I knew!"
Their display of affection seemed to amuse the faerie and she clapped gleefully. Arthur held out his hand to her, and after a moment of hesitation, she floated down onto his palm, bending over to touch his fingers and prod at the lines on his hands.
"Do you have her now?"
"Yes, she's on my hand."
"It's a faerie, right?" There was a touch of fear in Alfred's voice, and Arthur leaned up to kiss his cheek.
"Yes, that's all she is. Nothing scary, I promise."
"And are there others?"
Arthur looked around the pond, and then back up into the tree. Two more faeries were watching them from the branches, both fair-haired and almost identical, whispering in each other's ears familiarly.
"Two more. Up there. I think they're sisters."
Alfred squinted, even though it would do little good. "Oh. What do they look like?"
Arthur tried to be as thorough in his descriptions as he could, detailing how golden the light coming through their wings was, their green dresses made from leaves and grass; that the one on his hand had dressed herself in wisteria blossoms and was singing his song again, content to sit in the palm of his hand. The two still in the tree knew he was talking about them, so he made sure to remark on how beautiful they were, and that set them to giggling. They fluttered down curiously, and after a few cursory circles around Arthur, they took a greater interest in Alfred. One tried to find her reflection in his spectacles, and the other sat herself on his head. Alfred shivered slightly and looked at Arthur.
"I feel weird. Is there something-"
"The two in the tree came down. One's on your head, so don't move too quickly."
Arthur could see Alfred struggled with the urge to bat around his head, so he took one of his hands in his free one and squeezed reassuringly. "They're just curious. They won't hurt you."
"What are they doing?"
The one on his head seemed to be comparing the colour of her flowing locks to Alfred's hair, and then took to running her fingers through his and laying it across her lap like a golden blanket. The other had given up trying to understand his spectacles and was twirling around like a fool and blowing kisses.
"One's playing with your hair. The other is-"
"I can feel her!"
"What, really?"
"Kind of. Just barely. Like a tickle."
Alfred smiled, and Arthur felt like his heart was ready to burst.
"Y'know, I didn't know if I could really believe you, not until right now. I asked Yao before we left, and he said the Gift was real and many people had it, but never talked about it, but I just didn't think-"
"I know. It's all right, I don't blame you. It still must seem impossible to you."
"Not when I can feel her." Alfred beamed again. "What is yours doing? And the other one?"
Arthur looked down at his hand and watched for a moment as the wisteria faerie braided her straight, black hair in complicated knots.
"Mine is braiding her hair. Apparently I'm rather comfortable." Alfred laughed. "The other one near you is in love with you, I'm afraid."
"What?"
Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh. "She keeps blowing you kisses and trying to get your attention. I don't think she's realized you can't see her." The faerie turned abruptly to Arthur, a look of shock and disappointment on her face. "Oh, never mind, she understood me. She's upset over it now. She's very taken with you."
Alfred frowned and looked into the air right in front of his face, unsure where he should address. "Oh, I'm sorry I can't see you! If I could, I'm sure I would think you're beautiful!"
The faerie spun around happily and renewed her admiration with more blown kisses and provocative wiggles that Arthur was sure were more for his benefit than Alfred's. He didn't say anything and went back to watching his faerie braid her hair.
"But even if I could see you, I couldn't love you back."
Arthur looked up in surprise, only to find Alfred's face inches from his own. Alfred smiled and kissed him softly.
"I already love someone, and he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Tiny face getting red, the faerie made a rude gesture to Arthur, and took off into the tree, dragging her sister with her. Alfred winced as his hair was pulled and looked at Arthur with confusion.
"Oh, well done, Alfred, you've gone and broken the poor thing's heart!"
"Don't pretend you weren't jealous that she liked me!"
"That's ridiculous. You can't even see her! Why would I be jealous?"
A high-pitched giggling reached Arthur's ears and he looked down to his palm to see his faerie rolling with laughter and pointing at the two of them.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure this is all so funny to you!"
She composed herself, wiping away almost invisible diamond tears, then flew up to give Arthur a kiss on the nose. Sparing Alfred a fond look and a shake of her head, she followed the distraught sisters up into the tree until Arthur could no longer see her.
"Are they gone?"
"Yes. Mine went off to comfort the others."
"Good, because I wanted to kiss you again."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but let him, feeling better than he had in weeks. "What's brought all this on? You've been especially good to me these last few days."
Alfred shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"
"No, but that's what's so infuriating."
"And charming."
"That too."
They chuckled softly at their own foolishness, then fell silent, enjoying the peace that came with knowing Arthur wasn't bereft of his Gift forever. Then Alfred cleared his throat and nudged Arthur playfully.
"So what now, your Highness?"
Arthur looked around the pond, the flowerbeds brimming with colour and life, up to the manor house where he had spent more than half his life, but felt nothing other than a stirring of conviction for what he was about to say.
"We go home."