Major major apologies for missing two updates in a row. I was on vacation. But to make it up to you here's an extra update with a long chapter (idk who allowed me to write this chapter. I had TOO much fun with it) so enjoy! Also here's a shout out to a reader (I don't want to say your name or anything if you're not comfortable with it) but thanks for giving me tips on how the proper titles of royalty etc.
Will was thankful that as soon as they were beyond the city limits, Hannibal stopped the royal procession to exit the carriage and mount a horse. From there, both he and Will rode horseback. His body was much sorer afterwards, but Will was certainly grateful for the fresh air. It felt as though the further they traveled from the city, the lighter the air became. Seeing the countryside once more after so many years in the city also eased Will's mood. Hannibal's mood was improved by Will's rare encouraging of conversation between them.
His mood slowly fell away as they came within sight of the castle. It was even more immense than the city palace, likely because it was free of the confines of the city and had viable space to expand. Yet with its harsh stone ramparts and large fortified door it was much more austere and perhaps better suited to survive the dangers of the countryside. The interior proved to be as exquisitely furnished as the city palace's was, but it was still a more rugged style. It was easy to tell from the many antlers that lined the walls between the tapestries that the king was a hunter. This castle also had many more fireplaces, all burning fiercely when they arrived.
After the horses were taken care of and Will assigned the guards to their respective duties needed to ensure the king's safety, Will found his room. It was much smaller than the one in the city, its small size accentuated by the large rug that spanned the entirety of the floor. There was also a narrow window through which the forest peered at him.
The grand dining room completed the style, with its pagan chandelier of antlers and ancient tapestries. However, at the heart of the room and the castle was the immense fireplace that towered over the head of the table, where Hannibal sat. It created the illusion that Hannibal sat on a throne of fire at the center of hell. Of course, the fire was essential to keeping the entire castle warmed during the coldest dregs of winter.
It was at dinner that Hannibal announced that the weather was ideal for fox hunting, and that preparations should be made immediately for a hunting party. Will wasn't particularly fond of hunting, however he was eager to explore the vast wilderness that encompassed the castle. The next morning he detoured to the stables to ready his and Hannibal's horses. The horses' saddles and equipment had already been attached when he arrived. The girl who had done this now had her hands around Will's horse's muzzle and was whispering something to it. Her back was turned to Will. He remained silent, trying to catch a snippet of her conversation with the horse.
"What are you asking him?" Will asked, hoping he sounded friendly. She jumped, looking like a startled deer. She took a step back from the glossy-black horse, but now Will could see her pale and pretty youthful face dotted with freckles.
"I was asking him if he enjoyed the apple, sir," she said. "I hope it's no trouble. I didn't mean to cause any."
"No trouble at all," Will said, slowly approaching the horse. "He had a long day yesterday, he deserves an apple. Maybe two."
The girl nodded.
"Unfortunately, he needs to work again today. But perhaps he can have an apple when he returns," Will said. "What's your name?"
"Abigail," she said, looking up suddenly, as if terrified of why Will wanted to know her name.
"If you have any more apples, feel free to let him have another when we get back," Will said. "Thank you, Abigail."
He took the reins of his horse and Hannibal's white steed. As he led them out of the stable, he happened to peer into the dog kennels. At the moment he did, the kennel keeper glanced up and they locked eyes. Will's attention immediately sharpened at the recognition of his face. He realized that the face belonged to a back of the head seen exiting Hannibal's room.
It was unclear whether or not the kennel keeper recognized him in return, or if he was aware that Will knew him, but he looked away and returned to his dogs. Will was left shaken, and still trying to understand how his newfound knowledge fit with the other pieces he already had to form the big picture.
Being part of the hunting party was like a sailor returning to sea after a yearlong shore leave. The routines had been ingrained into his muscle memory, but his mind was still struggling to remember how to think properly in the environment. He fought off a vague sense of nausea as he sat stiffly on his horse.
"There is nothing to be anxious about," Hannibal said, his long legs a perfect length for his limber steed. "Hunting comes naturally to you, that is why you are such an asset for the royal guard. Only now you're hunting a different prey."
"Foxes are no less sly," Will said, eyeing the forest as if expecting a fox to rear its glossy red head any moment.
"But that is why bloodhounds are needed," Hannibal said.
"Am I your bloodhound?" Will asked.
Will forgot his question when the hounds were brought out. His eye caught one particular foxhound, who was slightly trailing behind the others. As he watched, he noticed the dog didn't put weight on one foot. Impulsively Will spurred his horse forward to the man who was holding the dogs on leashes.
"Are you in charge of these dogs?" He asked. The man looked up in bewilderment and shook his head.
"That's the kennel keeper," he explained. "I just hold them until the hunt begins."
"Have you noticed that one is injured?" Will asked.
"Indeed," Hannibal said, pulling his horse up behind Will's. "It cannot walk on its foot. What happened to it?"
Meanwhile, Will dismounted his horse and bent down to the dog. He picked it up lightly and examined its foot. It whimpered and pulled it away. Will frowned.
"I expect we'll have to ask the kennel keeper when we return," Will said, not noticing the dog's thick hair was shedding all over his dark clothing. "Until then, this dog's foot must be tended to. These are finely bred animals, we don't want to lose any unnecessarily."
A servant stepped up to take the dog. Will held onto the dog, its heartbeat warming his chest, until he realized the servant wanted to take the dog back. He carefully passed the dog to the servant, and only then took a moment to brush some dog hair off. He glanced around before returning to his horse.
"I have excellent hound experts, they will surely take care of him," Hannibal assured Will. Will didn't respond, only stared at the woods with a pouted lip.
"If we are all ready, shall we begin the hunt?" Hannibal asked. Will nodded and the foxhounds were released.
He and Hannibal followed after the pack, and Will had a recollection of struggling to keep up with his father as he chased after the foxhounds. He remembered how he hated hunting as a boy, and couldn't say his opinion had changed much since then. Even so, the same adrenaline rush of galloping through the trees made his cheeks flush.
The pace of the hounds changed as they caught the scent of a fox. The hunting party followed them deeper into the forest. Will was vaguely aware of other members of the party, but it felt like it was comprised of only him and Hannibal who was leading the group of people. Will's hands gripped the reins but his mind quickly lost interest in the path they were traveling. His horse took control and followed the rest of the pack. Will had become preoccupied by Hannibal. He rode with the same grace that he fenced with. It was as if his royal blood naturally gifted him with a refinement that influenced every motion he made. His body was bent over the horse's neck, yet his muscles were relaxed and flowed with the rhythm of the horse.
Suddenly, he tilted his head back and locked eyes with Will. His heart fluttered but he couldn't look away. His reins started to slip from his hands, and a disconnect between himself and his horse threatened to throw him off. He quickly pulled his senses back and snapped the reins. His horse's pace quickened and soon he was riding beside Hannibal.
"Your horse is much quicker than its lean figure would suggest," Hannibal said between breaths.
"Even if he isn't royal bred?" Will asked, not noticing the smirk he said it with.
"Makes him all the more impressive," Hannibal said.
"It's one thing to be fast," Will said, his thighs burning from bouncing up and down with his horse. "But endurance is a much more valued skill."
"Then let us test that," Hannibal said, leaning forward and urging his horse faster. Will wrapped his reins tighter around his hands and also leaned forward until his chest was touching his horse's neck.
The wind tousled his curls except for those which his sweat had matted to his forehead. He looked forward, a bit annoyed that Hannibal didn't seem to even be breathing hard. Will knew from the warmth in his face that his cheeks were flushed. He dismissed it as only a product of physical exertion.
The hunting party rammed to a halt as they reached the hounds, which were circled around a fox. The fox hissed at the dogs, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Will took deep breaths and tried to steady his pounding heart. Hannibal aimed his gun, and released a deafening boom through the forest. Will's hands clenched and his legs tensed around his horse at the noise. The killing had always been the worst part of the hunt for him. Hannibal's calm composure hadn't shaken once during the deed.
Will looked away as a servant stuffed the still fox into a bag. Hannibal watched closely until he noticed Will's discomfort. He rode his horse next to Will's.
"Hunting is a necessary job," he said. "Foxes plague this part of the country, ravaging chicken coops and terrorizing livestock."
"Perhaps, but must the method of death be so barbaric?" Will asked, remembering asking his father the same question as a small boy.
"Barbaric?" Hannibal said. "Is it not noble to give the animal the chance to escape, the opportunity to prove itself with such high stakes? There are more brutal and slow ways to die. This is more than the pests deserve."
"And who decides who deserves what?" Will asked, turning his horse to return to the castle. Hannibal stayed beside him, the rest of the hunting party following behind. "Isn't that God's jurisdiction?"
"And I am the head of the Anglican Church," Hannibal said. "I believe that makes it mine."
"You mustn't let Archbishop Verger hear that," Will said. "He'd likely call for your head."
"I'm sure he'd prefer to have me slowly roasted on an open flame as a heretic," Hannibal said. "But he doesn't have that power."
"You sound confident," Will said, gazing up at the castle. The gray stones were peaking through the spaces between the trees.
"I have good reason to be," Hannibal said. He also paused when he saw the castle growing nearer. "We've returned. We must not have ventured that far. Will, I hope you'd join me for dinner?"
Hannibal seemed disappointed when Will answered that he would first unsaddle the horses and check in on the injured hound, but he allowed him to go. Will was pleased to find Abigail in the stable. She smiled when she saw him, although he wasn't sure if it was because of him or the horses. Either way, he returned the smile.
"They worked hard today," he said, handing her the reins.
"They seem tired," she said, walking the horses toward their stalls. Will followed her.
"Have you always worked with horses?" he asked. Abigail nodded.
"My father was a grain farmer and I always loved the workhorses. We needed more money to pay our Lord and keep our land, so I started working at the stables for him. Eventually I also started working here over the winter."
"Is your father here too?" Will asked.
"No, we're not allowed to leave our Lord's property. I was only allowed to come because the king pays so well."
Will watched her delicately brush the saddle crease from his horse's fur. Dirt from the coat fell to the floor.
"That must get lonely," he said. She shrugged.
"A little, but I have the horses to keep me company," she said. "Honestly, it's much better than working for the Lord."
"Who is your Lord?" Will asked. Abigail glanced up at him, her wide eyes gauging Will.
"You must forgive my comment," she said, dismissing his question. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"I didn't think you did," Will said. He wanted to keep prying, but Abigail had turned her back to him. "I'm afraid I have dinner plans with His Majesty, but I hope I'll see you soon."
Will left the stable irritated at himself and eager to vent his frustration on someone else. He remembered the hurt hound and made his way to the kennel. The dogs were mostly sleeping but a few awoke to bark at Will. Their barking summoned the kennel master, who snapped a stick across their cages. They whimpered and crawled to the back of their cages.
"Apologies," he said, lowering the stick. "How may I help you?"
The man was most definitely the one from the palace. Being so close to him cleared all Will's doubts. His clothes were not as regal as before, and they accentuated his slim figure which Will hadn't noticed before. Now that he had shed his city clothing, he had also shed a layer of normalcy. His black beady eyes analyzed Will with a degree of savagery. The man unsettled Will.
"Sir William Graham," Will said. The man raised his eyebrows slightly, feigning surprise.
"Randall Tier, kennel master," he said.
"Exactly who I wanted to talk to," Will said. "As you no doubt know, the king went hunting today and we were dismayed to find that one of his prized hunting dogs was injured."
Randell didn't reply. He patiently waited, thus forcing Will to directly accuse him. Will was happy to oblige him.
"Did you injure the dog?" Will asked.
"Forgive me, Sir Graham, but you must understand that I allow the dogs to play with each other to keep them stimulated. Once in awhile they injure themselves."
Will narrowed his eyes.
"Then perhaps you should do a better job of inspecting them before sending them to His Royal Majesty," Will said. "I hope that the next time I visit, that dog will be walking again."
"His Majesty won't be disappointed," he said.
Will turned with a flourish that would have made Hannibal proud. He returned to the castle, his mind still wrapped around the kennel master. He was surprised to find Hannibal absent when he returned to their connected chambers. Then he noticed the handwritten note left on his bed. It was from Hannibal and explained that he was in the kitchen preparing dinner for them. Will should have guessed. He put the note down on his desk before noticing another letter. He paused and then opened it.
Dear Will,
I hope your journey to the countryside was pleasant. I've begun looking into the matter we discussed at our last meeting, however I regret to inform you that I have had little success at the time I am writing this letter. But I will continue my investigation.
Meanwhile, do write to me about the countryside. Is the weather any better there? Have you gotten any snow?
Sincerely,
Beverly
Will read the letter over again, as if it would read differently a second time. He dipped his quill in ink and began a reply. It was briefer than he'd intended, a few sentences about the weather, lack of snow, and familiar fog that also penetrated the countryside. He sealed the letter and consoled himself that at least Hannibal hadn't censored his letters here.
As he dropped the letter off to be delivered, his stomach ached from hunger. Having nothing better to do, he made his way to the kitchen. It was empty when he arrived, except for Hannibal. He looked up from arranging the plates of food to greet Will.
"Is dinner close to ready?" Will asked.
"Forgive me. I hope you are not too hungry," Hannibal said. Will shook his head as he stepped into the room.
"I'm fine. I was just checking on the king, as is my job."
"You can't lie to me," Hannibal said, teasing Will with his smile. "Your mouth is salivating."
Will's hand snapped to his lips, which felt normal to him. He frowned but couldn't deny the food smelled and looked appetising.
"What meat is that?" Will asked, debating whether or not he dared eat it. The smile Hannibal gave him was disconcerting.
"I asked the cook for a slaughtered pig," Hannibal answered. Will tried to remember if he heard anything about a servant disappearing, but he couldn't recall anything.
"I should taste it," Will said, partly joking. "In case it's been poisoned."
"Will, I hope you did not mean to offend my cooking" Hannibal said, his voice sounding deadly. Will smiled, knowing he wasn't serious.
"It wouldn't be the first time cooking has killed someone," Will said, not quite meaning to refer to the Ripper murders. He spoke up again, quickly brushing away the comment, "If you are almost done, then I will have the butler prepare the table."
"Yes, I will only be a few minutes," Hannibal said, and Will left to find a butler.
Once dinner was ready and the table set, Will had to admit Hannibal's dinner was delicious. He hated that he wanted seconds. It was strange because he'd thought uncharacteristically often of his childhood today, and the meal also brought back memories of eating with his father and mother. It put him in a better mood, and Hannibal noticed and decided to take advantage of it.
"You had a sense of familiarity about yourself today," Hannibal said. "Was I wrong to assume that you were inexperienced in hunting?"
Will put his fork down, his appetite disappearing. The coincidences of the day suddenly didn't seem so coincidental anymore. He remembered revealing his father's identity to Freddie.
"My father took me once or twice as a child," he explained.
"He taught you well," Hannibal said. "Although, it helps that you naturally have instincts for it."
"I wouldn't call it natural instincts," Will said.
"Is it not the same instinct you use to hunt criminals in the city?" Hannibal asked. Will shook his head.
"That's different. That requires adopting a certain mindset. All that hunting requires is detachment from conscience," Will said. Hannibal sipped his wine before answering. Will waited for him to undermine his logic.
"Hunting is a sport, invented for a purpose but also to provide enjoyment," Hannibal said. "Have you ever considered allowing yourself that satisfaction? You may find that it will become even easier for you. Surely your father understood that."
"My father understood many things, but he never taught me to kill for pleasure," Will said.
"What did he teach you?" Hannibal asked. Will used this question to calculate how much Freddie had revealed to Hannibal, and to what degree Hannibal was aware of what Will knew.
"The typical skills. Reading, writing, arithmetic. The usual values a parent instills in a child. As a bookkeeper, he was particularly fond of organization and handling money wisely. I fear I didn't learn either very well," Will said, the corner of his mouth peeking up. Hannibal swirled his wine glass, a sign that he had knowledge beyond what he was revealing.
"As my personal guard it is essential that I can put my full trust into you, Will, and I do not think it is fair of you to lie to me." Hannibal said, taking some satisfaction in his incrimination of Will's parentage.
"I'm afraid I don't grasp your implications," Will said, allowing himself some pleasure from frustrating Hannibal.
"You've been hiding from me that your father was Lord Graham," Hannibal said. Will's mouth dropped open in feigned offense.
"Hiding?" He asked, amused by the chance to fluster Hannibal. "You never inquired about my origins. Furthermore, I never lied. If you know Lord Graham, then you certainly know how he was stripped of his titles. After that he became a bookkeeper. The bookkeeper was the one who raised me. Lord Graham is little more than a memory," Will said, watching Hannibal's reactions to his explanation closely. He was expecting shock, even anger. Instead what he saw was intrigue.
"Yet you seemed to have retained some of the lessons taught by Lord Graham," Hannibal pointed out. "You have a knowledge of hunting and you have an air of dignity, no matter how hard you attempt to hide it, that can only be inherited by years of ancestral refinement."
Will tried to drown out Hannibal's words with a deep sip of wine. He put the glass down and met Hannibal's fixed gaze from across the table.
"That didn't make much difference to the aristocracy when they banished us from their ranks," he said, any amusement having suddenly turned cold. "It didn't make them anymore eager to welcome me back into their ranks."
Hannibal tilted his head. Will was irritated that it was that comment that sparked Hannibal's surprise, and he couldn't understand why.
"I couldn't imagine you enjoying court as an aristocrat. This bitterness is uncharacteristic of you," Hannibal said. "You are not particularly fond of the nobles."
"That is true. Not being an aristocrat is not the source of my aggression," Will said. Hannibal remained silent, encouraging Will to continue. "It is the idea of nobility that bothers me. And what being stripped of it did to my parents. The dramatic measures my father had to take to keep our family afloat. The toll it took on my mother especially. She was shunned by her own family. When she fell ill, there was little my father could do. And I was powerless."
Will finished, his chest aching from wounds that never properly healed. He watched Hannibal, whose expression had once again shifted. Now the firelight made his eyes dance, as if they were aflame with emotion. Will hated that he couldn't tell if it was anger or amusement. He hadn't realized how late it had become, and the vast darkness of the room created a void in which only he and Hannibal existed in the candlelight.
The atmosphere made Will feel trapped, and he had the sudden urge to flee. His feet tensed for flight, but his arms gripped the seat. His eyes remained locked with Hannibal's. Even though there was a part of him that yelled to leave, leave the castle, the countryside, the job, England, and Hannibal, there was a stronger part of him that refused to move. If anything, it teased Hannibal onwards. It dared him to continue the conversation.
"There is a difference between being powerless and refusing to be powerful," Hannibal said, his eyes dangerously tinged with red.
"Refusal stems from what one intends to do with that power," Will said. "A person is much more inclined to use power if it is a matter of giving life. Taking life is entirely different."
"Is it?" Hannibal asked, causing Will's thoughts to stumble. He continued, "Death is just as sacred as life, and oftentimes just as necessary. All too often a mother must sacrifice her own life for her child to be born."
"And I suppose you'll say it is an essential duty for us to weed out the pesky foxes?" Will said. Hannibal smiled.
"Yes, but it does not have to be merely a duty. If it is so entrenched in our lives, why not gain some pleasure from it?" Hannibal asked.
"Extreme excesses may corrupt morals after long exposure," Will said, slowly rising from the table. "But we are not all as susceptible."
"I fear we've run out of wine," Will said. "I will get us more."
He took his glass with him as he left the room. When he returned, Hannibal was already in his bedroom. He placed the wine on the table, his glass already filled.
"It will snow soon," Hannibal said, walking closer to fill his own glass. "I think we should go for a ride tomorrow."
Will nodded absentmindedly. He wondered how long it would take for his letter to reach Beverly.
"If there isn't anything else you need I think I will retire," Will said, finishing his glass. Hannibal followed his hands as they placed the empty glass down. His lips formed a disappointed pout, but he let him go.
The last glass of wine was just beginning to haze Will's thought processes when he returned to his room. He struggled to tear off his waistcoat. As he maneuvered to the bed, he glanced towards the desk and the pile of papers under which he had hidden Beverly's letter. From the bed the pile seemed to be as he had left it, and so he fell asleep. His sleep was still troubled, but that was one worry that didn't bother him.