They were at it, again. Weskham could hear them halfway down the hall and he was willing to bet that a large percentage of the Citadel staff was aware, by now, as well. For all that people liked to ignore them, the servants were sharply observant. No one knew that fact better than the steward.
"He is not well. You can hardly go on denying that indefinitely!" Clarus' voice was clear, even with the door shut and several yards between Weskham and the room they were shut up inside, as was the vitriol in his tone.
"He is getting by and keeping up with his duty; what else would you ask for, Clarus?" Cor didn't raise his voice so much as he sharpened it and struck with deadly precision.
"I ask you to stop pushing him. He needs time. He still hasn't come to terms with Aulea's death."
"He's handling it as well as can be expected. He's moving on and making progress, as he should."
"He's not moving on, Gods damn it! He's hiding from it!"
Weskham pushed the door open and slipped inside, shutting it behind him. "If I might suggest we hold this discussion at a somewhat lower volume. The servants in the hall are beginning to look concerned and, while I do not believe any of them will take this back to His Majesty, some conversations are meant to remain private."
Cor and Clarus exchanged a venomous look, but both dropped their voices when talk resumed. It would have been easy for those who overheard to misunderstand the situation. The King's Shield and the Marshall of the Crownsguard at each other's throats certainly made for good gossip, but hints of unrest among the king's closest companions lead to uneasiness in the Capitol. The fact was that Clarus and Cor had always carried on a rivalry of sorts. Recently it had settled into a more peaceful sort of understanding, but this business with Regis' behavior was bringing up old grievances.
Clarus had been the king's sworn Shield more or less since birth. The two of them had grown up knowing they would have that place side-by-side and while, like any brothers, they had their disagreements, Clarus was utterly devoted to his then-prince.
Cor hadn't come into the picture until much later, after Regis' retinue had travelled to Accordo and back. On the battlefront, when the war with Niflheim stirred up once more, King Mors' young bodyguard had joined Regis' escort at the former's request. Cor was a prodigy with a blade, more skilled at fifteen than anyone else King Mors had on hand to send and safeguard his heir. It might have been fine, if Regis hadn't already had a devoted guard of his own.
Needless to say, the headstrong fifteen year old had clashed with the twenty-five year old Shield. More than once, Weskham had thought Regis' own retinue was more likely to kill him than the imperials were.
Ten years had cooled tempers and soothed jealousies, and yet they were fighting over Regis behind his back once more.
"He's going to crash. We must do something while there's still a chance to head it off," Clarus said, passing a hand through his thinning hair as his eyes flicked between Cor and Weskham.
"Regis will make his own choices. It's not up to either of us to decide how he handles himself," Cor retorted, though he, also, looked at Weskham.
Weskham folded his arms over his chest and looked at the pair of them. Ten years and they still bickered like children while he played Mother. How had this happened?
"It is our job, not to make decisions for him, but to help him in making a well-informed decision when he is blinded by nearsightedness. I agree with Clarus," Weskham said, ignoring the flinch of annoyance that crossed Cor's face. "Regis is making good decisions for his kingdom and poor decisions for himself. While his duty is important, he can hardly do that if his health doesn't hold out."
"His health is fine," Cor dismissed. "He's not an old man."
"Careful, Cor," Clarus drawled. "Your youth is showing."
Cor, wisely, chose not to dignify Clarus' quip with a response.
"Whatever we may like to believe, Regis is far from invincible," Weskham said. "You're right; he is still young, and after six—nearly seven—years, he's tolerating the weight of the ring very well. But even a man in his prime can only keep on at this pace for so long before it takes its toll. Do not fool yourself: Regis will fall if we let him. So let us dispense with the bickering and admit that none of us want that."
After a tense silence, in which Cor and Clarus exchanged yet another scathing look, they both finally agreed.
"So what do you propose we do, then?" Cor asked.
That was the root of the problem. Even if they all agreed there was one, they couldn't agree on the method to addressing it. Cor wanted to solve things the same way they had begun: by beating some sense into the king. Weskham was more inclined to go the opposite route: with gentle care and, perhaps, a quiet discussion. Clarus fell somewhere in between the two and, in the end, their impromptu meeting adjourned without any conclusion being reached.
They reached the king's study only shortly after the king himself.
He looked wane. There were dark circles under his eyes, his clothes hung more loosely than they should have, and his cheeks had taken on a waxy, hollow appearance. Clarus was right; they needed to do something.
Under normal circumstances, Regis would have made a comment about his three companions arriving together, but that day he just glanced at them with a tired sort of disinterest before gathering himself.
"State of Insomnia briefing in twenty minutes," Regis observed, glancing at his watch. "Weskham, where did you put that hospital correspondence that you mentioned?"
"Here, Sire," Weskham said, retrieving the small pile of letters from the corner of the king's desk and placing it in front of him. "Incidentally, there was also a message from the nursery this morning," Weskham added, remembering the note he held in his vest pocket. He drew it out and handed it to the king.
"Oh?" Regis received it, unfolding the paper and letting his eyes skim the sheet. A smile settled on his lips. It was the only time he ever smiled: when he held his children or when he had news of them.
"Is this all you ate, this morning, Regis?" Clarus asked, disapproval clear in his voice as he indicated the still-full breakfast tray that had been pushed to the side of the king's desk.
Regis spared it a passing glancing, setting down the note from his nursery staff. "Indeed."
Clarus placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward to put his eyes on a level with Regis'. "You have twenty minutes. Eat."
The king sighed and picked up a piece of abandoned toast. "Very well."
Weskham moved around his desk to refill the king's glass of water and glanced at the note that lay face up on the desk, now. He wasn't in the habit of snooping on Regis' private affairs, but he couldn't help his curiosity: what was it that could bring a smile to Regis' face?
The note was short: a couple lines in slanting handwriting with delicately curling letters:
Have you ever seen a baby eat a lemon for the first time?
They're six months, today. Lunch is at noon.
Weskham smiled too, in spite of himself. He caught Clarus' eye and indicated the note, wordlessly. Clarus would make sure that Regis made it to the nursery around noon.
"Weskham, will you follow up on someone, for me?" Regis asked as Clarus covertly rounded the desk to read the note.
"Of course, Sire," Weskham said, setting the pitcher of water down.
"A man I met in Reliqua Hospital by the name of Spero Perdita. See if he has been discharged, at the very least," Regis said as he took a dutiful bite of lukewarm egg.
"I will see."
"Thank you."
"There is very little that urgently needs to be done, past the morning's meeting," Clarus said casually, once there was space in the conversation to do so. "Why not take the remainder of the day and get some rest?"
The weary look on Regis' face transformed into something sharp so quickly that Weskham missed it by blinking.
"No, Clarus," Regis said, his voice no longer familiar and cordial, but containing that steel that he usually only wielded in court. "There is no rest to be had. There cannot be."
His tone was sharp enough that even Clarus didn't push the subject farther. He just let it drop. Though, once the king had looked away, Clarus shot Weskham a wistful look.
I tried, it seemed to say.
Weskham gave him a miniscule nod. He had made an attempt. But it seemed it would take a great deal more than that to convince Regis to rest.
Six months.
Six months since that beautiful day that his wife had given birth to twins.
Half a year old, already and half of it Regis had spent in this haze of half-being. Even now, everything was dulled and foggy through the exhaustion, but that was the only way he could carry on. Nothing was as sharp as it should have been. Nothing, that was, except for his children.
"You came! I wasn't sure if you would make it." Crea welcomed him with that same smile she always wore. She held one baby on her hip and she looked natural that way. She looked unbalanced whenever she wasn't holding a baby.
Noctis was doing his best to grab her bottom lip, but she deftly avoided his grasping hands and redirected his attention. Upon seeing Regis, Noctis gave a wide smile, showing off two little white teeth on the bottom front.
"My friends have begun to conspire against me," Regis said, by way of explanation. He returned Noctis' smile, brushing one finger over his son's chubby little cheek. "They read my mail and rearrange my schedule whenever you send me a summons. If they believe I have not noticed their attempts to halt my work…"
He sighed, straightening. They were all very well-meaning, he had no doubt, but they didn't understand.
"Maybe you should take the hint and have a break," Crea stated, pushing Noctis into his arms and stooping to retrieve Reina from the play mat.
"I cannot," Regis said, voice tight, as he settled Noctis on one arm.
Crea paused, considering him for a moment. "Because it's the only way you can stop thinking about her?" She asked, voice soft.
Regis swallowed hard and pursed his lips. He gave a curt nod, but didn't trust his voice to carry any words. He didn't want to talk about Aulea. He didn't want to think about Aulea, because it was a floodgate just waiting to burst.
She gave him a tight smile, but the look on her face wasn't pity, as he had come to expect from people when they mentioned—even indirectly—Aulea. It was understanding. He wondered if she had done the same thing when her mother had died and her daughter after that, but he didn't ask. He wasn't curious enough to overcome his reticence.
"Then maybe you should think about her," Crea said softly, reaching out with her free hand to grasp his forearm, briefly, before she turned toward the kitchen without waiting for a response.
Regis remained rooted to the spot for a moment. She said it like it was so simple. But he needed to work; he needed to do his duty for the sake of the whole kingdom and if he thought about Aulea he couldn't do that.
"Once they start eating solid foods regular, they'll start sleeping longer at night. They'll still be getting milk along with it for a long while, yet, but the solids will keep them full a bit longer." Crea's voice drifted out from the kitchen, picking up as if they hadn't discussed anything besides the twins, at all.
A part of him wanted to ask her how she had done it, but he was thankful that she didn't push the subject. Perhaps, someday, he would bring it up. Today he was simply too tired; all he wanted was to be with his children.
He followed her into the kitchen, giving Noctis a little smile as the baby grabbed two handfuls of his beard. Both of the twins had sharp little fingers, but he would have tolerated any amount of beard-pulling for the sake of holding them.
"You can put him there," Crea said, pointing to a new highchair on the near side of the little table.
There was a second chair on the opposite side of the table and Crea set Reina down in it without complication. She made it look so easy. Why didn't she have trouble with little feet that didn't want to go where they were meant to, or little hands grabbing hair and clothes and refusing to let go?
When Regis finally had Noctis seated and managed to free himself from both little hands, he straightened to find Crea watching him with that look that said she was trying not to laugh. She covered her mouth with one hand.
"Your crown, Your Majesty," she said, her voice miraculously even, in spite of the evident strain.
Regis put his hand to the side of his head, expecting to find his crown askew. Instead he found nothing at all.
"Where—?" His eyes landed on Noctis, who had both hands wrapped around the delicate metal horn and the round curve fixed securely between his gums. "By all the—how ever did you manage that?"
Noctis made no response but to drool on his crown. Regis sighed and left it there. Baby drool was good for silver, right?
Crea gave up on her self control. She laughed as she moved about the makeshift kitchen, making quick work of putting together lunch for the prince and princess.
"Do you really intend to give them lemon?" Regis asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down in front of Noctis.
He glanced up at Crea, who held up a slice of lemon and shot him a wicked smile. "I always deliver on my promises."
"Is this how you spend your days?" Regis asked as she returned to the table, setting down a little plate of soft foods cut into bite-sized bits. "Torturing my children?"
"Gods, you have no idea how much fun it is," Crea said, pulling out a second chair and sitting down across the table from him. "The first lemon is practically as big a milestone as walking."
She picked up a slice of lemon and passed it across the table to him. Regis took it dubiously, not certain that he wanted to inflict raw lemon on his son. She picked up a second slice and held it out for Reina, who opened her mouth to display her own brand new tooth.
"Reina will take one for the team, won't you, Sweet Pea?" Crea asked, letting the princess take a mouthful of lemon.
Regis watched. Reina gnawed at the lemon wedge for a moment before pulling back and looking at it with what could only be called a reproachful expression. She stuck her tongue out, looked up at Crea with a great furrow on her little brow, then fixed her eyes back on the lemon, distrustful. Crea laughed. In spite of himself, Regis did, too. He leaned against the table and watched his little girl open and close her mouth a few times before she leaned forward and took another bite.
The low chuckle in Regis' chest expanded into a full laugh. He could hardly believe she had gone back for more after that first look. As if that wasn't enough, she did precisely the same thing on the second taste, pulling back and glaring at the lemon as if it was the fruit's fault that it still tasted much the same.
"She likes it!" Crea said. "See. Not so bad."
Regis wasn't sure he would go so far as to claim Reina actually liked the lemon, but he had to agree that it was worth it. What was a sour mouth in exchange for that wonderful expression?
"Go on." Crea nodded her head toward Noctis.
Regis looked at the lemon, then at Noct, taking the crown back from the little prince. "I apologize in advance, my son. Today I subject you to discomfort for my own amusement."
He held out the lemon. Just like Reina, Noctis opened his mouth—so innocent and trusting—and let Regis give him a bite of lemon. The little prince munched at the lemon for a moment, blissfully unaware of the flavor as it remained mostly caught between his lips, but once he had a mouthful and Regis withdrew the lemon wedge, the reaction was immediate.
His whole face screw up. His little nose wrinkled, his eyes squinted, and his tongue stuck out. He waved his little hands and took long breaths of air like he was trying to wash the taste out of his mouth that way, all the while drooling lemon juice down his shirt.
Regis threw his head back and laughed. Watching Reina look bemused and then, for some reason, try again was nothing compared to the look of utter betrayal that Noctis wore. He didn't even feel a little bit bad for subjecting his son to a mouth full of lemon.
"This is how we teach distrust," Crea said, appearing over his shoulder with a washcloth to wipe up the lemon juice and drool from Noctis' chin.
It took a moment before Regis could speak again. His stomach ached from laughing, his face hurt from the grin, but it was the best he had felt in months.
"Gods. Well and truly grateful am I that you will not remember this once you have grown up," he said, smoothing his free hand over Noctis' soft hair.
"He'll never trust you again," Crea said as she withdrew.
"Likely as not," Regis agreed, still grinning.
Noctis licked his lips and twisted his mouth, looking up at them with a deeply disturbed expression. Once the taste faded, however, the expression did as well. He was no worse for the wear.
"I should have taken a picture of that," Regis sighed. He shook his head and smiled. As much as he tried to convince himself that he would be as kind and merciful a parent as he was a king, he had no regrets.
"Perhaps, just once more?" Regis picked up a fresh slice of lemon. "Would you like some more lemon, Noct?"