He had to keep moving because if he didn't, everything would come crashing down.
Three weeks ago, Cor had showed him that he could think, could act, and didn't have to suffer the indignance of being an impotent king any longer. That had given him the boost he needed to vault back into the throne, but it didn't take away the pain. All the loss and emptiness was still there. He was just able to distract himself from it, now. In the dark of night, after Clarus went home and Cor and Weskham both retired, the ghosts came back to haunt him.
At night he thought of the words that Spero Perdita had said to him in that hospital room.
You should talk to her, you know.
Some nights it seemed like there was something hiding underneath them, something he couldn't quite grasp. He had walked into that hospital room expecting to offer Spero consolation on the death of his wife. He had never thought he might find some sort of hidden wisdom there, and yet…
Other nights he thought Spero must simply be mad.
Talk to her. She was dead and no amount of deluding himself was going to bring her back.
He still couldn't face his bedroom. The truth was, he feared that if he let himself think of her then he would be sucked back into that blackness that had taken up two months of his life. He just wanted to live. But somehow it found him, anyway, in those quiet nights.
There were only a few things he could do to abate the pain, on those nights. Sometimes, when he was running on three hours of sleep for the fifth day in a row and hadn't stopped working since before dawn, he managed to fall asleep. But in between he was forced to resort to other measures. Sometimes it was a bottle of scotch. Sometimes, as this night, it was a trek upstairs to the nursery where he could sometimes lose himself in the chaos of trying to convince two five-month-old babies to go back to sleep.
Regis shut off the lights in his study and left the room. Outside, he gained a shadow. Weskham had gone to bed already—a fact that Regis wasn't certain whether or not he should be thankful for—but in his place he had left Avun to watch the king. Regis didn't object to the company, though he didn't say anything one way or the other. They just walked in silence upstairs to the nursery.
The twins hadn't been sleeping well, recently—taking after their father already—but that night Regis found the nursery silent.
He hid his disappointment—most parents would have been thrilled to find their children asleep in the middle of the night after weeks of struggle, but for him it meant no interaction—though it was soon distracted by another anomaly.
Instead of finding Crea seated in her chair, taking advantage of the quiet moment to read her book, he found her pacing the length of the room with agitated strides. She looked up when he entered.
"Good, you're here. I was beginning to worry I would have to go looking for you in the morning." She stopped pacing, but spoke in a low whisper to keep from rousing the children.
"What is it?" He asked, stepping fully into the room and mirroring her tone.
"It's nothing catastrophic, but… enough to cause some concern." She pulled at the front of her shirt before stopping herself and meeting his gaze. "I don't like the way Mistress Dyana handles the prince and princess. You recall how much trouble we've been having getting them to sleep, recently?" Regis indicated that he did. "It's because of the naps, like I said. They're growing out of the last nap, but because their sleep cycle is so messed up, they won't fall asleep at night. They're just too overtired by that time. So when we finally do get them to sleep, they don't get nearly enough and it's just this cycle of tired babies. Well, on top of that, she's said that if they won't go down at night it's because they're having too many naps. She told the day nurses to only put them down for two."
"I thought you said they needed three," Regis said, brow furrowing. He rested his arm across the back of the armchair he usually occupied, looking as unsettled as he felt.
"They do. So now they're even more tired. Somehow we managed to get them both down early tonight—I came in before my shift and convinced the evening nurses to help. Mistress Dyana will probably find out about that by tomorrow," Crea said, sounding mostly unconcerned about the fact. Her offhand tone persisted, in spite of her words: "Likely she'll have me dismissed before the week is through, so I wanted to tell you before there wasn't a chance."
Regis blinked, taken aback. In the few months that he had come to know her, Crea had earned his trust. Now he found himself more assured than ever that this trust wasn't misplaced. She told him she would be dismissed and wanted to inform him on the policies so that he could change them in her absence. She didn't ask him to prevent her dismissal—indeed, she seemed not to think of it beyond that it would mean she couldn't help the prince and princess any longer.
The king glanced outside the open door, where his attendant was standing in the hall.
"Avun." He motioned as he moved to fold into the armchair, steepling his fingers. "I need you to deliver a note."
Avunculus stepped fully into the room, drawing a notepad and pen from his pocket, holding them at the ready.
"To Helena Lionward," Regis dictated, "Dismiss Mistress Dyana from the nursery staff and ensure she never rejoins the Citadel. In her place, instate Creare Vinculum as head of nursery and nanny to the prince and princess."
Across the room he spotted the look of shock that settled on Crea's face. She didn't make any objection, perhaps because her train of thought had derailed or perhaps because she had none. Either way, Avunculus finished writing and Regis gave him a short nod, receiving the pen and paper to sign the bottom before dispatching his messenger.
When they were alone once more, Crea managed to track down her voice again.
"Your Majesty—I've never been in charge of anything in my life!"
"I beg to differ. You are in charge of the two most important people in my life every night." He stepped forward and sank into the armchair.
"That's different!" She tugged a lock of her blonde hair and resumed her pacing, ignoring his teasing quip.
Regis leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. "Crea, please desist."
She stopped moving. He opened his eyes to find her demurred and felt immediately guilty. With a sigh, he motioned her forward, sitting up and taking her hands in his when she stopped in front of him.
"To this point I have been forced to rely upon the judgement of others to determine what—and who—is best for my children. Still I know little of the what, but the who I can now decide with little hesitation. It matters to me little whether your have ever been in charge of others—children or otherwise. What is important is this: you care for my children. Not due to any sense of obligation, but rather because you love them. You also have a keen understanding of growth and development and how best to see to their needs. If you did not, I expect you would soon learn because you love them. Because you are intelligent and perceptive and you want the best for these children and that—that is what I need." He looked levelly up at her throughout, speaking emphatically, earnestly, from the bottom of his heart. "I trust you, Crea. And I need someone who I can trust to care for my children, because I cannot do it on my own."
There was still a shell-shocked sort of look on her face, but it was more surprise than anxiety, this time. For a moment she just stared at him. Then she shut her mouth with a snap, swallowed hard, and put a few words together.
"If that's what you want then… I won't disappoint you."
"I know." He gave her a little smile, squeezing her hands before releasing them. "It will mean more work for you—but please send word once you have decided when you will be with them, so that I might adjust my schedule, as best I am able."
"Of course. I will," she said hurriedly. "Thank you… Your Majesty."
"Thank you, Nanny Vinculum."
The following day was tiring, just as the day before had been, and the day before that as well. Regis didn't allow himself the luxury of dragging. If he showed weakness then everything would come crashing down once more.
Clarus didn't understand. He followed Regis, just one of the many shadows that dogged him, and looked daggers at Cor. Regis was too tired to find out what was going on between them. He was too tired to care about much at all.
In the moments between court and council, he returned to his study, his faithful Shield and lion trailing behind him. Weskham awaited them. It was impossible to tell what the third member of his entourage thought of the feud between the other two; Weskham was always so composed and he rarely offered his unsolicited opinion on personal matters. It was just as well. While he might have hovered, he at least didn't fuss like Clarus.
"A message for you from the nursery, Sire," Weskham said, motioning to the king's desk.
Regis raised an eyebrow and sat, lifting the paper and skimming his eyes over it. He smiled tightly; not amused, but satisfied. In everything else, he had nearly forgotten; Crea had delivered, just as requested, not only the new schedule for nursemaids, but also a carefully detailed plan for fixing the mistakes of his previous nanny.
Attached to the back and scrawled on a scrap of paper was a note from Crea herself:
Noctis has his first tooth.
He smiled. A real smile, this time.
"Regis? Did you hear me?"
Regis looked up to find Clarus looked at him. He had been speaking, hadn't he?
"No, Clarus, I fear not," the king admitted, setting aside the notes from Crea and leaning back in his chair to look up at his Shield.
"I said: you really ought to take a break."
Regis shook his head. "There is no time, Clarus," he sat back up and reached for the next stack of papers on his desk. There was always more work to be done but, truthfully, that wasn't what he really meant.
"Regis…" Clarus took a step forward, his voice growing softer as his hand fell on Regis' shoulder. "You cannot go on like this forever."
Regis looked up at him once more. It did no good to see the concern on Clarus' face, but Clarus didn't understand at all. What was Regis going to tell him? That if he stopped running, even if for a second, Aulea's ghost would catch up with him?
"This time you are wrong, my friend." Regis shook his head, looking away. "This is the only way I can go on."
Clarus sighed. Regis didn't see the look he exchanged with Weskham, but if he had, he wouldn't have been surprised.
"Go see your children, then," Clarus said at length.
A clever change of tactic. Clarus knew that was the one way to get him to stop working. It remained, still, the only thing he could do that made him feel properly whole.
"We have an hour before the council convenes," Clarus pressed, leaning forward to look at Regis' face. "Go and see Noctis' first tooth."
Regis glanced toward the note that he had set aside, which Clarus must have read over his shoulder. It was a tempting proposition. One he couldn't hold against.
"Very well," Regis said at last, rising from his chair. It didn't take much coaxing to get him to put down work for the sake of his children.
Cor followed him upstairs to the nursery, leaving Clarus and Weskham to discuss whatever they would in the king's absence. Cor offered up no unsolicited opinions, neither about Clarus nor Regis' behavior, on the way to the nursery and Regis didn't ask for them. Cor knew, among other things, when to keep his mouth shut and for that Regis was grateful. He was doing as well as he could. If there were any other expectations he wasn't meeting, he didn't want to know, just then.
They found the little prince and princess awake and active when they reached the nursery, presided over by two nursemaids.
"Your Majesty." The nurses bobbed respectfully when he entered.
"Crea—that is to say, Mistress Vinculum—isn't here, right now," said the first nurse.
"She left just a few hours ago," added the second.
"That is quite alright," Regis said, lifting a hand to quiet them. If Crea had only just left a few hours ago, he expected it was to get some well-deserved rest. Though he appreciated her calm presence, it wasn't necessary for her to be there in order for him to see his children. "I have merely come to visit."
Reina and Noctis were both situated on a play mat on the floor; Regis knelt amongst the toys, ignoring the protest of his stiff muscles. Big blue eyes turned up toward him as the prince followed the motion. Regis smiled. How could he not? Noctis looked at him with those eyes, his sweet little cheeks rounded and soft lips parted to reveal the crown of a single tooth on the bottom.
"Good evening, Little Prince." Regis brushed his son's cheek with one knuckle. "Is that your first tooth I spy?"
Noctis babbled a long, repetitive stream of consonants. It didn't mean anything to Regis, but two feet away Reina responded in an equally unintelligible language. Regis' smile deepened. He would never tire of hearing it. Perhaps some parents had the luxury of wishing their children would shut up; Regis didn't expect he would ever get to.
He tweaked his son's chin, smiling at the drooling baby. His first tooth already! Why, they had only been born five months ago.
Five months. Had it really been so long? Nearly half that time he had been without Aulea.
Regis pushed the pain aside, refocusing on his children as Noctis resolutely tried to fit a block thrice the size of his fist into his mouth.
"And you, Little Princess?" He asked, leaning forward to get a look at his daughter.
She fixed him with her endless gaze, considering for a moment, before she smiled at him. It was just as toothless as it had been every day before. No hint of white caps in her little mouth.
"Will hers come, soon, as well?" Regis asked, turning to look at the nursemaids, who were still hovering nearby.
"I expect so, Your Majesty," the first said. "Since they're twins and all."
Regis looked back at his children as Reina grasped at his knee and wriggled closer. He gave no objection even as she moved her second hand from her mouth directly to his pant leg and used it to drag herself forward. Her half-mumbled muttering continued, though it had taken on a discontented tone.
"Not much longer, my dear," Regis said dotingly; he smoothed one hand over her feather-fine hair and slipped his hands underneath her arms to lift her up. "You shall have to crawl soon, else Noctis will beat you to it. After that walking and talking…"
She babbled at him reproachfully, as if to inform him that she was already talking. Just because he didn't understand it…
Regis smiled, holding her up at eye level. They were growing up so quick. The next stages would happen faster than he wanted to admit. A part of him wanted to shut them both away and hope they wouldn't grow up at all if he confined them. But that was foolish and, besides, the other half of him couldn't wait to meet the people they would grow into. He couldn't wait to teach them words and tell them stories, to wallpaper his study with their artwork, to hear their tall tales and make up silly games with them.
"Yes, quite soon you'll both be unstoppable," Regis told his daughter, setting her back down so her feet rested on the floor, though he held her upright, still. "You aren't going to let Noctis beat you to walking, are you? He's already gotten his tooth, first."
Reina made a sharp, monosyllabic sound, which Noctis repeated as he smashed two blocks together.
"I fear I have instigated something terrible," Regis sighed, sitting Reina back down beside her twin.
Surely they didn't need his help to develop their own sibling rivalry. Soon enough they would be at each other's throats. For now, he should just be happy that they hardly acknowledged the others existence.
It was a peace that was doomed not to last.